


Ti Amo

by ButterflyGhost



Series: Marco Matroni [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Domestic Violence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rape, Romance, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Violence, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against a background of violence and betrayal, Ray Vecchio's journey, from Marco to Irene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ti Amo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dogsled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/gifts).



> This story depicts Ray Vecchio's sexuality evolving from early puberty on. As well as consensual underage sex there is violence and noncon. If these things offend you, don't read any further.
> 
> Although this story is a standalone, a sequel is being written.
> 
> Huge thanks to Happy29 for her ongoing concrit and help with research both while I was writing and after I was finished. She spent nearly as much time on in this as I did, and persuaded me to keep going when I was less than delighted with how dark it was getting.
> 
> Huge thanks also to a close friend for going above and beyond the call of duty, and reading and rereading the sex scenes until his eyes bled.

 

 

  
Nobody wants Marco Matroni on their team. He’s shit at basketball, everyone knows it, and he loses every game.

  

Still, couple of times a week, there he is at the Holy Family Community Centre, right behind the church. Wednesday and Saturday, every game, with an eager expression on his face, like this time will be different. It never is. Ray doesn’t know why Marco bothers to come.

 

Ray’s a good basketball player though. Even he knows that. In real life, he’s nervous - always tripping over something, dropping plates, running into someone’s fist. Lately, his feet have gotten too big. He’s gone from soft and plump to skinny and scrawny. His arms and legs are all over the place; he looks like a fucking Daddy Long Legs. In the mornings when he does up his school tie he’s glad that it hides his neck. His Adam’s apple looks awkward and ugly, and his voice doesn’t know what it’s doing. He’s pissed that he’s had to start shaving early, though Pa was proud of him when he found out.  Problem is, it means he has to look at his own ugly mug in the mirror every few days, scraping embarrassing fuzz off his face once or twice a week. It’s nothing like a proper beard.

 

But on the basketball court, Ray finds his grace. Even though he’s only just turned twelve, he’s tall, and he’s everyone’s first choice for their team, even the older kids, even Frankie Zuko. Especially Frankie. Ray doesn’t want to play on the Zuko team – not now, not ever. But it’s not like he has a choice if Frankie chooses  _him._

 

He wants to play with Marco.

 

The kid tries his hardest, and there’s something about him. Ray always liked him, since they were five and playing cops and robbers, but just lately he’s noticing him more. He likes the way Marco moves, even though he can’t make a basket to save his life. Ray likes to watch him running up and down the court, with such enthusiasm. He likes his hopefulness, the way he always thinks this time he might do better. He likes the way his black hair curls up and sticks to his forehead when he sweats.

 

Ray’s hair is floppy and stupid and straight. He doesn’t like it, but at least he has it. He doesn’t want to go bald, like Pa.

 

So, today him and Marco are playing on opposite teams; Ray with Frankie and his crew, Marco on Petey’s side. Petey’s giving Marco the stink-eye. Last to be chosen, as usual. Marco gives a shy, apologetic smile, ducks his head. Ray’s heart hurts a little, looking at him. Marco’s been giving that smile ever since grade school.

 

Ray knows he’ll win. And he knows he’ll zero in on Marco, just like everyone else does. That he’ll knock up against him, seize the ball out of his hand, bounce it out of his range – pass it to someone on his team, or even rush the basket, make the score himself. He hates himself for making Marco look bad, but it gives him an excuse to touch him. Hand on his shoulder, hip check, jostle, shove. Smell his soap and his sweat. Ray doesn’t know what it is. There’s just something about the way Marco moves, his enthusiasm, the flash of disappointment in his eyes every time he fucks up.

 

Ray knows all about fucking up.

 

When they’re in the locker room after the game, after his temporary teammates have stopped slapping Ray on the back and grinning at him, he looks over. Marco is in a corner by himself, towelling off, looking down at the floor. Ray looks away, swiftly. Marco’s back is turned, and Ray can clearly see fresh bruises from where people bashed into him. Some of that is Ray’s fault. He knows it.

 

Next time Ray looks, Marco is buttoning up his shirt. It’s a Wednesday, and he’s still in school uniform. He’s pulling his blazer on. His teammates are still scowling at him, giving him the cold shoulder. Ray feels something twist in his chest. He wishes, just once, Marco could be on the winning side.

 

He takes a deep breath, and walks over.

 

“Good game,” he says.

 

Marco looks at him, startled, then turns his face away, shuttered. “Yeah, right,” he says.

 

“No, I mean it.”

 

Marco throws a suspicious glance at him, then away. Must think Ray’s setting him up for something. They haven’t really talked as much since Marco moved into advanced Math and English. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone set him up for a fall.

 

“Listen…” Ray pauses. “I wondered if…?”

 

“What?”

 

“Ma’s doing lasagne tonight. You wanna come over?”

 

Marco freezes. It’s been a long time since he’s visited Ray’s after school, not since his parents split up and scandalised the neighbourhood. After a moment he starts doing up his tie. “Can’t,” he says. “Thanks though.”

 

“How about another time?” Ray asks, wondering why his voice just squeaked, why it sounded pleading like that. He checks over his shoulder – nobody noticed – and casts about for an excuse. “You could help me study,” he offers. “I mean, you know I’m shit at Math.”

 

Marco visibly relaxes. “You need a tutor?”

 

Not really, Ray’s not  _that_  bad at Math. It’s just he can’t be bothered to do any of his assignments on time, so he’s coasting along in regular, like he’s regular at everything. But it gives Ray a reason to have Marco over.

 

“Yeah,” he fibs and grins sheepishly. “I don’t got your smarts,” he admits, which is true. “Besides, Ma likes you.”

 

“Maybe tomorrow,” Marco says. “After class.”

 

“Cool.” Ray grins broad. “I’ll see you then.”

 ***

 

"That poor boy,” Ma says as she pours ground beef into the skillet. “I’m so proud of you,” she adds, stirring rapidly so the meat browns without sticking. “He needs a friend.”

 

Ray’s surprised. He didn’t know Ma knew that.

 

“I mean, the way people treated his mother after that man left her.” Ma clucks her tongue. “Shameful.”

 

Ray says nothing. He’s been praying for years that Pa would leave Ma. Maybe on bad nights he’s prayed that Pa would die or something. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that.

 

She tips the tomato sauce into the meat, takes a taste, and frowns, adds a sprinkle more oregano. “A boy needs a father,” she declares.

 

Ray disagrees, but he keeps that to himself. “Marco’s clever,” he points out. He doesn’t want Ma thinking he’s just asked him over because he feels sorry for him. “He’s top of the class. He’s helping me study.”

 

“That’s kind of him,” she says, and turns, smiles at him. “But you’re a good boy too,” she adds, “for asking him over.” She stands on tiptoes, and Ray bends his head so she can kiss his forehead. He knows the drill. She ruffles his hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

 

“Ma,” he rolls his eyes, but smiles, then returns the kiss to her own forehead.

 

“Go set the table,” she says. “Use the good plates.”

***

 

After that, Marco starts coming around after school. Within a couple of weeks, he’s round almost every night. Maria ignores him – she’s old enough that Ray and his friends are beneath her dignity. Frannie and Paulie, on the other hand, start following Marco around, one as bad as the other. Paulie wanting him to play cards and Monopoly, Frannie with her googoo eyes, asking him to play with her dolls. Marco usually indulges them, though he draws the line at playing dollies. He laughs at their jokes, even though they aren’t that funny. Ray’s jealous of his kid brother and sister, but then Marco and he get to go upstairs, where they ‘study’ in Ray’s room. Mainly they just talk crap together, sitting up on Ray’s bed, with the math book between them.

 

When you get him by himself, Marco laughs a lot. Ray likes that. It lights up his face. Marco has a great smile.

 

Ray starts going to Marco’s on the weekend. Mrs Matroni is nice too, though she’s not as good a cook as Ma. Mind you, who is? Marco’s got no brothers or sisters, so it’s quieter at his house, and they actually get some studying done, sitting at the kitchen table. Ray starts to get his assignments in on time, and his grades are going up.

 

About a month later, Marco asks if Ray would like to sleep over. Ma gives the go ahead. Ray knows she’s glad that it gets him away from Pa.

 

They sit up all Friday night. Marco has a mattress on the floor made up for him to sleep on; Ray’s supposed to take the bed, because he’s the guest.

 

They end up on the bed together, still in their school uniforms, talking and talking. They fall asleep just as the sun is coming up.

 

Ray wakes up first. Marco’s lying on his side, facing him. One arm is thrown out casually, across Ray’s waist. Ray’s heart starts hammering in his chest. He’s got a hard-on. That’s normal, he always wakes up with one. But this isn’t normal. Marco’s his best friend. He doesn’t want him to know… to know….

 

How long has he been thinking of Marco like that? Like he’s a girl? He’s not a girl. Ray shouldn’t….

 

He can’t take his eyes off him. Asleep, Marco’s lashes cast a soft crescent shadow just beneath his eyes. Asleep, Marco’s face is relaxed, his mouth soft, his lips slightly parted. His breath is warm against Ray’s cheek.

 

He’s prettier than a girl. Ray can’t breathe. Marco opens his eyes.

 

“Hey,” Marco says.

 

Ray breathes again. Neither of them move. “Hey.”

 

Marco blinks. There’s an expression in his eyes that Ray recognises – the same one he has on the basketball court. Terrified hope. The hope that maybe this time he won’t fuck up. Maybe this one time he’ll make a basket.

 

Ray kisses him.

 

Marco kisses back.

***

 

So, then it’s the Ray and Marco show. They don’t do more than kissing at first, locked in Marco’s bedroom, but kissing is enough. Ray has no idea what else he’s allowed to do, what’s acceptable – he’s heard what people say about fanooks. Is he a fanook? Does it matter if he’s queer? Is he meant to suck Marco’s cock now?

 

He is  _not_  sucking Marco’s cock.

 

His ear, maybe, his nipples. Nothing below his waist. Not his cock. He’s not even seen it, but it feels good, pressed up against his leg, with safe layers of clothing between them. Even if sometimes when they rub up against each other their pants get sticky.

 

He doesn’t think anyone’s noticed anything about it. Mrs Matroni hasn’t said anything, and she’s the one who changes the sheets. If she hasn’t noticed, then nobody will. And they’re being very careful when they’re not in Marco’s bedroom. They don’t hold hands or anything sissy like that. But Ray can’t stop smiling. Neither can Marco. Ray starts zoning out in class, missing what the teacher’s saying – which is good. It means Ray needs more tutoring.

 

He’s enjoying the tutoring.

 

“Who is she?” Ma asks, about three weeks later.

 

“Who, what?” Ray flusters. Ma gives him a knowing look, and smiles.

 

“I bet Marco knows who it is. Never mind, Caro. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Bring her round for dinner some time.”

***

 

For a while after that Ray stops talking to Marco. He won’t look at him when he sees him, and he doesn’t go to basketball after school. He manages a week before he’s too miserable to avoid him anymore.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says to Marco, behind the bike shed.

 

“What for?” Marco’s face is shuttered again, like it used to be before they started going… since they started seeing… since this whole thing began. He has his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants, his shoulders hunched up.

 

“For – you know, being a dick to you.”

 

Marco gives him a long, assessing look. “Is it because –?”

 

“Nah,” Ray interrupts him. “It’s not that. It’s just – Ma said something.”

 

“What?” Marco pales. “What did she say?”

 

“She doesn’t – she doesn’t know anything. Just, she thought there might be a girl.”

 

Marco relaxes. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

 

“What?” Ray shakes his head, damn near gives himself whiplash. “That’s not it. That’s not it at all. I… I  _like_  you.”

 

“Yeah?” Marco ducks his head, gives that shy smile again, that look like hope. “I like you too.”

 

“You want to come over for dinner tonight?”

 

Marco frowns, and looks away. “It’s Friday,” he says. “Is your Pa gonna be there?”

 

Ray pauses. He hadn’t thought about his Old Man. He wraps his arms around his chest, hugs himself. “Shit,” he says. “I forgot it was Friday.”

 

“You can… you can come to mine.”

 

“Your Ma won’t mind?” Ray’s feeling ashamed. Last weekend he just dumped Marco. Didn’t turn up, didn’t phone to tell him. Just a no show.

 

“She won’t mind.” Marco cuffs him on the shoulder. “She’s been asking after you.”

 

Ray brightens. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I’ll ask Ma. Should be okay.”

 

And it is okay, even though Ma says, “If you and Marco are off seeing girls, I hope you behave like gentlemen.”

 

Ray rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, Ma, we’ll behave.”

 

They don’t. That night, after Mrs Matroni has fed them and cleared the plates, the two of them watch TV in the living room for a couple of hours, then they head up to Marco’s room to ‘study'. The textbook lies forgotten on the floor as they scramble on the bed. This is the first time they get out of their clothes. Ray thinks he’s going to die of blushing, but he can’t stop staring at Marco’s cock.

 

Marco’s the first to touch. His hand edges slowly across the space between them. He’s panting in Ray’s face. “Can I?”

 

Ray closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers.

 

Marco’s hand wraps around Ray’s hard-on; Ray feels himself spasm into it, hears himself moan.

 

“God,” Marco whispers, “you’re so hot.” Ray doesn’t know if he means he’s sexy, or just that his cock is really, really warm, but whichever – Ray’s sweating, burning up inside. He makes a juddering thrust into this strange hand – the first hand other than his own that ever touched him there. He knows he should be touching Marco too, but everything in him is focussing on his dick, Marco’s fingers – he tries hard, and opens his eyes. Marco’s face is shining.

 

“Oh, God, Marco,” Ray groans, and starts to move. It doesn’t last long. When he comes, it’s all over him, all over Marco. He never came so hard in his life. Ray has tears in his eyes.

 

“Ray,” Marco looks worried. “You okay?”

 

In answer, Ray reaches out, grabs Marco hard, and starts to move his hand. Marco’s eyes roll back and flutter shut; his mouth opens. Ray moves forward, slips his tongue into Marco’s mouth. Marco’s moaning, and moving against him. Ray wraps his free arm around him, pulls him hard to his body, thrusts his tongue in the same rhythm as his hand. Marco stiffens, then there’s wet warmth all over both of them. Ray moves his head back, feeling Marco soften in his hand. He can’t believe he did that, that he made another person come. He watches Marco come down from it. His brown eyes are almost black. His hair is all sweaty and curled up against his head, and his heart is hammering visibly in his throat. He might be the most beautiful thing Ray has ever seen. Ray kisses his neck, just to taste his heartbeat.

 

“You okay?” he asks, muffled up against Marco’s skin.

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Marco starts to giggle. “Yeah.”

 

“We have to do that again.”

 

“When?”

 

“Gimme ten minutes,” Ray says. “Takes a while to get it up sometimes.”

 

“Think I can…?”

 

“What?”

 

Marco manages to blush even harder. “I read a…” his voice drops. “A dirty magazine. The girl put the guy’s cock in her mouth. Think I can put your…?”

 

“Shit, yeah.” Ray pauses. “I don’t know if I can…”

 

“You don’t have to,” Marco says hurriedly. “I just wanna know what it tastes like.”

 

Turns out, Ray does put Marco’s cock in his mouth. Turns out, he likes it. Turns out, he zones out in class even more, thinking about that fullness on his tongue, that warmth, that bitter spurt. Turns out….

 

Turns out he’s a fanook. A fully-fledged cocksucker. Turns out Marco is as well. Turns out that’s not such a bad thing.

***

 

One day, Ray’s getting ready to go over to Marco’s, and the Old Man gets home early.

 

“How’s your faggot boyfriend?” Pa says.

 

Ray freezes.

 

“I’m talking to you.”

 

“Sorry, Pop,” Ray says, with the force of habit. Clears his throat. “Who are you talking about?”

 

Pa laughs. He’s already drunk enough that he’s weaving slightly as he walks across the kitchen.

 

“Your Ma thinks it’s a girl. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you look at him.”

 

Ray is cold. Cold, and frightened – and suddenly furious. He jerks his chin and glares at his father. “Well, I can’t help looking at him. What, I’m not allowed to look at people anymore? That’s what eyes are for.”

 

He knows even as he’s saying it that he’s gonna catch it bad this time. And he’s right.

***

 

Ma phones Mrs Matroni, and tells her Ray can’t visit this weekend. Ray stays in his room for days, not wanting anyone to see him. Even the little kids are tiptoeing round the house. Frannie comes in to cuddle sometimes, though she knows to be careful and not hurt his ribs. She plays with her dolls at the bottom of the bed, and asks him to read her stories. She rests her head up against his shoulder when he does, and he pets her hair.  Ma or Maria bring him up his food on a tray. 

 

Paulie avoids him, like maybe he’s contagious. Either he's heard what Pa called Ray, or he's just laying low so he's not next in line to be beaten. Not that Pa beats on him often. Ray seems to have reserved that honour, by virtue of being the eldest son. The whole family talk in quiet voices. Ma brings him aspirin. It doesn’t help.

 

Pa carries on like nothing happened. Just like the last time, and the time before that.

 

Wednesday morning Ray’s eyes aren’t so swollen anymore, and he can breathe better, so he goes to school. Marco’s absent. Artie looks at him, impressed.

 

“Wow, someone did a number on you.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Ray bluffs. “You should see the other guy.”

 

He spends the day trash talking with the guys, like he hasn’t done in months, and not hearing the teacher when he’s in class. At lunchtime, he goes to the bathroom to throw up. He’s still hurting.

 

Marco must think he dumped him again. Maybe Marco’s had enough this time. Maybe he’s told his mother. Maybe, God, no... maybe he’s  _moved…._

 

After school, Ray goes straight over to Marco’s.

 

“Raimondo.” Mrs Matroni’s face is cold for a minute, then she gets a good look at him, and her expression changes to shock. “What happened?”

 

Ray tries to remember what Ma said this time. “I, uh… I had an accident.”

 

“Yes, your mother said.” Mrs Matroni is all concern now. “I didn’t realise it was so bad. She said you didn’t need to go to hospital.”

 

“No,” he said. “It’s not that bad.”

 

“Did they get the driver’s number?”

 

Oh, that’s right. That’s what Ma told people.

 

“No. No, they didn’t.”

 

“Come in,” she says. “Sit down.”

 

Ray follows her into the kitchen. She puts the kettle on, then goes to the bottom of the stairs and calls.

 

“Marco. Marco – your friend is here.”

 

“I don’t want to see him.” Marco’s voice is muffled, a bit bunged up like he’s got a cold, or maybe he’s been crying or something.

 

Mrs Matroni shakes her head, exasperated. “Marco Matroni,” she says, “when I tell you to come downstairs, you come downstairs? Capisce?”

 

There is a thump like Marco’s thrown something, then stamping as he comes downstairs. He marches into the kitchen, a sullen look on his face. Then he freezes.

 

“God, Ray. I thought your Ma was making it up. I thought….”

 

“S’okay.”

 

Marco moves across the kitchen in three swift strides, puts his hand on Ray’s shoulder. Ray flinches – not because Marco’s hurt him – that’s his good shoulder – but because the last time someone strode across a kitchen he beat the crap out of him. Marco’s eyes narrow – he’s the smartest kid in school after all – and he says, “Your Pa did this to you, didn’t he?”

 

Ray puts his hands up to cover his face. Before he can stop himself, he’s crying. Deep ragged sobs that he can’t stop. “I’m sorry,” he says. He hears himself, like an idiot, saying it over and over again. “I’m sorry.”

 

“S’okay.” Marco pulls up a chair, sits next to him. “S’not your fault.”

 

Ray looks up, and Mrs Matroni is in the doorway, looking at him, her eyes shiny. Marco’s got the same look on his face. Ray shuts his own eyes, tries to stop crying. Shit. He can’t stop. And he can’t stand the way they’re looking at him. He doesn’t want their pity.

 

Later that night, Ray and Marco are drinking hot chocolate in the living room, watching the game, and Mrs Matroni is in the hall, talking on the phone. Even over the noise of the TV, Ray can hear Ma on the other end of the line, her voice tinny and defensive. He tries not to listen to what the women are saying. He loves his Ma, so damn much, but sometimes he hates her too. If he had kids, he’d never let anyone lay a finger on them. He can’t understand why she keeps letting this happen.

 

He can’t say any of that. He just drinks his chocolate.

***

 

He stays at Marco’s for the next two weeks. Mrs Matroni is on night shift most of the time, leaves them food to heat up while she's out, a list of jobs around the house, pocket money and reminders to do their school work. Marco, being a goody-two-shoes, coaches Ray through the math assignment, which is good. Then it’s half term, so apart from that there’s nothing to do.

 

Well - not nothing. When his mother is at work, Marco shows Ray some dirty magazines, and they pretend they're looking at the girls. They fool around in every room of the house, except Mrs Matroni’s bedroom.  When she gets back from work, she's tired, and doesn’t seem to notice they've been up to anything. Or maybe she guesses, but she doesn't have a problem with it. Ray can't imagine how his own mother would react if she ever found out. Mrs Matroni is cool. He kinda wishes he could live here forever.

 

He can’t.

 

When he finally does go home, Ma is stiff-backed and silent. The whole house is quiet for once. Maria is out with her boyfriend. Paulie still won’t look at him, pretends like he’s not there, even though Pa's nowhere to be seen. The Old Man musta told him his brother was a fanook. Paulie’s a couple of years below him - he doesn’t need that reputation rubbing off him, so... yeah. Okay. Ray understands it, even though it hurts. Frannie still loves him though. She follows him around like his shadow; keeps holding his hand and sucking her thumb.

 

He thought she’d stopped sucking her thumb.

 

“Where’s Pa?” Ray asks when they sit down for dinner.

 

“He has a job out of town,” Ma says, curtly, and carries on dishing out linguine. Ray knows what that means. He’s probably on a job for old man Zuko. He could be away for the night. He could be away for a week or more. Ray looks down at his food, and eats everything. It’s really, really good. After a while, Ma refills his water glass, and serves up seconds. He clears his plate. When he glances up, she’s putting out a big dish of canolli.

 

“Thanks, Ma.”

 

“You’re welcome, Raimondo,” she says.

 

Just like that, he’s forgiven.

***

 

Marco doesn’t come to his house anymore. His mother won’t let him. Ma’s a bit funny about it, but after a while Ray’s grades start slipping so she lets him go see his friend again. Mrs Matroni is as friendly as always, more so, even, but Ray can understand why she’s worried. If it was him, he wouldn’t let his kids go round to his place either.

 

On Ray’s thirteenth birthday, the old man gets drunker than usual, and earlier in the day. Ray goes over to Marco’s before things can get ugly. He feels like he’s letting Ma down, especially after she went to all the trouble of making a cake, but he just can’t stand it. If he’s not there, maybe Pa will be less angry. It’s always him setting him off anyway.

 

That night, he lets Marco put a finger inside him. It’s all slippery – Marco put lots of vaseline on it. Ray doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to say anything. He tries not to let on, but his cock is getting soft, and he’s pulling a face. Marco stops what he’s doing, finger still buried inside. “Is this okay?” he asks. “I read it in a skin mag, I thought you’d like it.”

 

For the smartest kid in school, the choir boy type, Marco seems to read a lot of porno.

 

“It just feels….”

 

“What?”

 

“Weird.”

 

“You want me to stop?”

 

Ray shrugs. “Not sure.”

 

Marco nods, then shifts slightly. “Maybe if I was behind you?”

 

Ray freezes up, feels his bottom clench around Marco’s finger. If Marco’s behind him he might decide to try…. “No,” he says. “No. This is fine.”

 

“Okay,” Marco says. He moves his hand slightly. His brow is furrowed in concentration. “There’s meant to be something up here – like a button or something….”

 

Ray huffs a laugh. “A magic button, right. That’s just where I’d keep it, up my ass – oh!”

 

Marco grins. “Have I got it?”

 

Ray pushes back down on Marco’s hand, clenches his butt again. “I… don’t know. Do that again.”

 

Marco pushes his finger up again, touches that point. Something flares inside; strange and bright, there and gone again. There's a weird urge to pee, but Ray hardly even notices it, what is happening inside is so... so...

 

New. So new. Marco crooks his finger, and Ray arches back against the mattress, gasping, pushing on Marco’s hand, trying to recapture the sensation. His cock’s hard again.

 

“You like that?”

 

“Yeah….”

 

“Jeez,” Marco says. “Your nipples have gone really hard.”

 

“My nipples?” Ray laughs, though he can’t quite catch his breath. “You think my  _nipples_  are hard? What about…?”

 

Marco puts his face on Ray’s belly, and sniggers. “Give me a minute. I want to see what happens if I keep doing this. It says you can get a guy off just from this.”

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

Marco twitches his finger. Ray arches back again, groans. “Okay. Try it.”

 

It takes a while, but it works. And then it works on Marco.

 

Later that night it’s two fingers, and then Marco’s asking him if he’d like to try fucking some time. Ray nearly passes out he comes so hard.

 

“Happy birthday,” Marco says, just as Ray is drifting off to sleep. Ray smiles, and rolls to him, throws an arm and a leg over him. He means to say thank you, but the next thing he knows, it’s morning.

***

 

They don’t get round to fucking, but they mess around a lot. Sometimes Ray thinks Mrs Matroni knows, but he’s beginning to think she doesn’t care. She just seems happy Marco has a friend.

 

Marco’s still shit at basketball, but it doesn’t matter. As the days get longer and the weather gets better, Ray and Marco start going back to the community centre. Basketball is something to do after school, or on a Saturday, and Ray still likes to watch the way Marco moves on the court. For some reason, Frankie doesn’t want Ray on his team anymore, and these days he’s always one of the last to be picked. He doesn’t mind so much. It means he gets to play on Marco’s team more. Ma’s started letting Marco come round for a milkshake or something after basketball anyway, so things are getting better. And it means he gets to block the other guys, stop them bashing into Marco so much. One time, probably the first time in his life, Marco makes a basket, and Ray set it up. Marco grins, and they high five. Ray grins back like a lunatic, feeling like king of the world. Even though, as usual, they lose the game.

 

Not as close as last time.

 

Later, as he’s coming out of the showers, Frankie and two of his cronies push up against him.

 

“Hey, Vecchio.” Frankie’s grinning. “Good game.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray says, steps back into the spray, like  _that_  could hide him, and wishes to God he had a towel. Why the hell is Frankie Zuko talking to him anyway? Sometimes they shoot the shit, when they’re waiting for their parents after Mass, or Ray’s picking up groceries for Ma or something, but the shower ain’t the place for a chat. And God’s sake, the three of them are naked. What’s that about?

 

“Your boyfriend’s getting better at basketball.”

 

“Excuse me?” Ray’s voice hits a squeak, which it hasn’t done in a year. Frankie laughs.

 

“Yeah. Someone’s been giving him lessons.”

 

Ray turns back from the shower and tries to push past Frankie. Joey and Alfie seize him by the shoulders, and push him up against the wall.

 

“Hey, fuck off,” Ray shouts. “Get off me.”

 

“Turn him round,” Frankie says.

 

Ray lunges forward, trying to get away from the guys holding him. He’s as tall as they are, but they’ve got a couple of years on him. They’ve got muscle on them, where Ray’s just scrawn. Alfie’s the heaviest of them, and it’s his weight, more than Joey’s, that keeps him pinned. Ray struggles harder, and slips. Frankie kicks at his heels, and Ray falls to the floor, twisting as he goes. He lands face up, still struggling. Joey kneels on his shoulders, pinning him. Ray squeezes his eyes shut. He’d never wanted to see Joey di Sano’s dick, and there it is hard, waving in his face. Alfie seizes his hair, and smacks his head a few times against the tiles.

 

“I reckon you should go first, Alfie. Or do you wanna do it, Joey? I don’t mind.”

 

“Get the hell off me,” Ray shouts. “Sir,” he yells. “Sir!” The janitor’s got to be out there somewhere.

 

“McGuire’s not here,” Frankie grins. “You know old Mac and his cigarette breaks.”

 

“Someone’s gonna stop you,” Ray protests.

 

“Nobody’s gonna stop me,” Frankie says. “I got friends standing out front. I can do what the hell I like.”

 

“Marco!” Ray yells. Frankie slams his fist in Ray’s face, and his head bounces back against the floor. The world greys out. When it comes back into focus they’ve flipped him onto his front.

 

“Marco isn’t coming either,” Frankie says. “Though, maybe we should have brought him in for the party. You want that?”

 

“No,” Ray groans. Someone’s pushing something up between his butt cheeks. Feels like soap. There’s only three of them, he should be able to stop this –

 

He can’t.

 

First one doesn’t get all the way in. It isn’t Frankie, ’cause he can hear him laughing. Whoever it is comes really fast though, splattering across Ray’s butt cheeks. Ray hopes that’s it, that it’s over.

 

Second one, Ray doesn’t know which one that is either. Joey or Alfie. Whoever it is, he pushes harder than the last guy, gets all the way in. It hurts like hell, burning, but he hits that magic button, and Ray starts banging his head against the floor to distract himself. He knows he’s yelling. This one takes longer. Just when Ray thinks he’s never going to stop, there’s a wet surge inside him. The guy’s coming.

 

Then he pulls out and it’s Frankie’s turn.

 

Ray knows it’s Frankie, because he’s talking, right up against his ear. Frankie’s always had a big mouth. He’s still laughing, but now he’s panting too, like a dog. “You like that, don’t you? You fucking slut, you like it up the ass. You want me to get some of the other guys in here? Yeah, you’d like that.”

 

“No,” Ray’s saying, “no, no, no.”

 

“Tell me you like it.”

 

“No.”

 

Frankie gets his hand underneath Ray’s hips, and finds him, squeezes. Oh God, Ray hadn’t even known he was hard, squashed up against the tiles. Frankie’s pulling on his dick, twisting, ruthless.

 

“Liar,” Frankie laughs. “Oh yeah. You like it. Guess what, boys? Fanook’s hard. Think I can make him come?”

 

“Yeah.” That’s Joey. Sounds like he’s grinning. “Yeah, bet you can.”

 

“What do you think, Alfie?”

 

“Yeah.” Alfie sounds less sure.

 

Frankie grunts, and bites Ray hard on the shoulder as he thrusts in and out. He’s sucking – he’s going to leave a mark. His breath is getting ragged. “If you don’t come for me,” he says, “I’ll get some of the other guys in here to finish you off. And then we’ll get your boyfriend, and we’ll do him too.”

 

“Stop it,” Ray pleads. “Please, Frankie, stop.”

 

“Tell me you like it.”

 

Ray starts screaming. Frankie’s pushing harder and harder, faster and faster, hand still moving on Ray’s cock. It’s slippery with soap. “Somebody shut him up,” he says. Ray keeps screaming, but then someone’s pushing his face down, wrapping it up in a wet towel. Ray can’t scream anymore. He can’t even breathe. His lungs are fighting for release, and his ass is burning. Frankie’s banging up against that spot inside him, over and over again; his hand is tight on his cock, tighter than Marco’s ever was, so tight it hurts. Ray is going to die. He knows it. They’re going to fuck him to death. He’s so damn scared he doesn’t even hate himself when he comes.

 

Then he feels Frankie pulsing up inside him. Ray is released, and the towel drops away from his face. He turns his head, gasping, drawing breath.

 

“Oh yeah,” Frankie pulls out. “Yeah, you liked that.”

 

Then the shower stall is empty. Ray rolls onto his side, puts his back to the wall. Curls his knees up over his chest, hugs them. The shower’s still running. It’s gone cold. He doesn’t move. If he stays here long enough, maybe the water will wash away the evidence. Maybe if he doesn’t step out and have to face the rest of the guys, this won’t have happened.

 

He watches the water running down the drain. It’s kinda pink with red streaks. Maybe he got a bloody nose.

 

He can’t be bothered to check.

***

 

Marco should have been the one to find him, but it’s Mr McGuire. Only then does Ray wonder where Marco was.

 

McGuire asks, ‘who did this?’ like he doesn’t already know. The policewoman asks, ‘who did this?’ like she cares. Some guy in a suit, a social worker or something, asks, ‘who did this?’ like it’s any of his fucking business.

 

Who the hell  _are_  all these people? Ray can’t be bothered to talk to any of them. He’s too damn tired.

 

When Ma gets to the hospital she asks, ‘who did this?’ too. He doesn’t look at her. She’s crying.

 

Then it’s the doctor asking, ‘who did this?’ before he hooks him up to an IV. He asks again, after, when Ray is dazed and loopy, a little bit happy again. When Ray comes round, sometime the next day, Father Belluci is there, and he asks, ‘who did this?’ Offers Confession, like it’s Ray’s fault. Mrs Matroni visits, with a box full of homemade cookies, and she asks, ‘who did this?’

 

Everyone fucking asks.

 

Everyone except Marco. Marco knows.

 

Ray doesn’t say a word.

***

 

It’s two and a half weeks since it happened, and Ray hasn’t spoken to Marco. Not that Marco hasn’t tried. The first time he came to the hospital Ray was totally out of it. He’d had stitches at some point, and when Marco came in he was floating on painkillers, which he kind of liked. Better than thinking, anyway.

 

Next couple of times Marco visits, Ray pretends to be asleep.

 

When he gets home, Marco comes round knocking on the door, and Ma sends him away, like it was his fault any of this happened. Which, maybe it was Marco’s fault. Ray doesn’t know.

 

Mrs Matroni comes next. Ma raises her voice to her. Ray hides his head under the pillow, so he can’t hear them fighting in Italian.

 

The Old Man’s drunk at the weekend, no surprises there. He announces his presence by slamming doors and shouting at Ma about her fanook of a son, and the shame of it. Ray walks into the living room to get it over with, and just takes what’s coming. Doesn’t even raise his hands to block. It’s not as bad as he expected. Two or three slaps, one punch to the gut. Then Pa’s out of there, crashing through the kitchen and back through the hall, slamming the front door. Ma’s got her arms around Ray, soothing herself more than him. Maybe the Old Man just gets bored when he doesn’t fight back.

 

Maybe that’s what’s wrong with him. He wishes he’d figured it out sooner. Maybe he should just stop fighting. It seems to work for Ma.

 

So, it’s a couple some weeks before he goes back to school. He walks into class, and everyone looks up. A couple of the guys leer. One of the girls smirks. Everyone else just looks away. Even his teacher doesn’t even make eye-contact when she reads out his name for attendance.

 

“Ray,” Marco says to him at lunch. “Are you alright?”

 

Ray stares at him blankly. “Where were you?” he asks. His voice sounds strange to him, and he realises he hasn’t been using it much.

 

“They locked me in the janitor’s closet.”

 

Figures. That means Marco heard everything. Heard Ray screaming and begging for mercy. Heard Joey, and Alfie and Frankie fucking him. Heard Frankie laughing, and calling him a slut.

 

“Ray?” Marco’s eyes are bright, too vivid, too intense. They say too much. They shouldn’t even be speaking in public, and here’s Marco, in the schoolyard, standing way too close. Anyone could see them. Everyone  _can_ see them. “Ray? Are you okay?”

 

“What do you think?” Ray says, then turns and walks away.

***

 

First time he plays basketball again is about a month later. Pa tells him he’s got to man up, stop being such a fucking loser, show people who’s boss. Ray doesn’t want to go - well, hell, of course he doesn’t - but maybe for once the Old Man has a point. Besides, if he doesn’t go, Pa will just start yelling even louder. Ray doesn’t mind so much if he hits him, but he doesn’t want him to hurt Ma, or scare Maria and the kids.

 

So, he goes.

 

He’s last to be picked. Frankie is looking sour - he’s stuck with Marco. Why the hell Marco came, Ray has no idea. He doesn’t care. Marco keeps trying to make eye-contact with him. Ray wants to tell him to fuck off, but he keeps his mouth shut, pretends he’s not there. They’re on different teams anyway.

 

He plays badly. His mind isn’t on the game - it’s nowhere. His teammates aren’t passing to him, and Ray doesn’t give a shit. It's not like it matters.

 

By the end of the game, Frankie’s looking pretty damn angry. His team lost by a hair, and Ray can tell he’s blaming Marco. There’s a little part of him that wants to go over and stand by his friend, but most of him hates him, and he just wants to get home. He goes to the office to get changed, like Ma arranged with Father Belluci. He hears the priest moving around in the hall, and knows that he’s standing guard by the door. He knows the man knows. He was there at the hospital. Everyone knows.

 

On his way home, just as he’s passing the liquor store, he runs into Alfie. Ray makes his face wooden, and tries to walk past, like nothing touches him.

 

“Where’s Marco?” Alfie asks.

 

“Like I should know.”

 

Alfie steps closer to him, and Ray flinches. Alfie steps back, and raises his hands. “I’m just asking,” he says. “I think Frankie’s pissed at him.”

 

Ray feels sick. Father Belluci left when Ray did. There won’t be anyone around to stop Frankie, if he wants to try anything with Marco. So, maybe Alfie’s setting him up, he doesn’t know. He can’t risk it though.

 

He turns, and starts back to the Community Centre, feeling like he’s got weights on his feet. When he gets there, the lights are all off. He looks in the locker room, and manages not to puke. He can’t hear anything from the shower stall. Nothing. Nobody. Nada. Seems like they’ve all gone home. He breathes a sigh of relief, then –

 

“Hey, Fanook.” Ray’s heart clenches at the sound of Frankie’s voice. “You looking for your faggot boyfriend?”

 

Ray doesn’t say anything. He can’t think of any snappy comeback, though he’ll think of a dozen, when it’s too late.

 

“Here,” Frankie says. “Come with me. We got him.”

 

Ray watches, as he walks like an automaton, Frankie alongside him, hand on his shoulder like he owns him. He doesn’t know why he’s doing that, why he’s just walking with Frankie, why he doesn’t punch him out, knee him in the balls. Even run away. He should run away.

 

He doesn’t do any of that. There’s no fucking point. It’s too late. He just goes where he’s told to go. Frankie’s like Pa. Better not to fight.

 

Marco’s in the gym. Joey and Carmine are holding him by the shoulders. Frankie’s still grinning.

 

Ray should do something.

 

“So,” Frankie says, and gives Ray a little shove into the court. “Thought you’d like to see this.”

 

 _No,_  Ray thinks, but the word is stuck in his throat.

 

Frankie gives a quick nod of his head. Joey throws the basketball, and Frankie snatches it out of the air one handed. Carmine pushes Marco back, knees him in the groin. Marco doubles over, and Joey kicks his ankles out from under him. Marco hits the concrete. There’s a crack, and his head bounces.

 

 _Don’t._ Ray’s thinking.  _Please, please. Don’t._ He can’t move. Frankie starts bouncing the ball, pacing around Marco.

 

“What we gonna do with you, Matroni? You’re a fucking worm. You know that?”

 

Marco doesn’t say anything. His eyes flare in defiance. Ray’s heart leaps. He hadn’t been that brave.

 

“Yeah,” Frankie says. “You’re a fucking loser. A fairy, like your boyfriend. You want I should do you like I did him?”

 

Ray doesn’t move.

 

“Nah,” Frankie says. “Got better ideas for you, pretty boy.”

 

Joey and Carmine are grinning, like they’re in on the joke.

 

“Don’t like your face,” Frankie says. “Maybe get you a new one.”

 

He raises the arm with the ball in it. Hurls it down. It slams against Marco’s cheekbone, splits the skin.

 

Ray doesn’t move.

 

Frankie keeps grinning. He paces round Marco, bouncing the basketball -  _bang, bang, bang._  Then, with all his force, he slams the ball down again into Marco’s face. There’s a crack, and blood spurting from Marco’s nose. Blood, and Marco’s yelling. Joey and Carmine keep him pinned to the floor, and Frankie keeps on going. Seems like it must be half an hour, or maybe a lifetime. Frankie keeps drilling the basketball into Marco’s face.

 

Blood everywhere, and Marco’s looking up at Ray, with those eyes.

 

 _‘Help me,’_  he’s saying.  _‘Do something. Call the cops.’_

 

Ray does nothing. He just stands there and watches while Frankie smashes Marco’s face into a pulp.

***

 

So, for a while there Ray doesn’t have any friends. Nobody’s surprised that the police don’t get anywhere in their investigation. Nobody’s named any names. Marco tells people he slipped and fell. Yeah, right. Fell and broke his own nose and teeth. Bashed his own face bloody. Cracked his own cheekbone. Nobody believes him, and nobody’s surprised when a few months later the Matronis move out of the neighbourhood.

 

Frankie could have killed Marco, drove a splinter in his brain, and he gets away with it. Everyday for the rest of his life Marco’s going to be looking at his banged up face in the mirror, and Frankie gets away with it.

 

Frankie always gets away with it, and it’s Ray’s fucking fault.

 

“Maybe things can get back to normal now,” Pa says, “without that faggot round, fucking everything up.”

 

Ray doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say much these days.

 

When he starts high school though, things are different. It’s like, even though everyone in his class is the same person that they were last year, he’s not. New uniform, new rules. Marco’s not there, but he’s not missing either. He was never here, not in this school. Ray can pretend none of it happened. Not Marco, not Frankie, nothing. Nobody ever talks about it, so maybe it didn’t happen anyway. Besides, they’re in a new place. Fresh start, all that crap. The teachers probably heard, but he doesn’t  _know_  that they know. That makes a difference.

 

He feels safer here than he did before. Which is weird - he’s in the same school as Frankie now, even though Frankie’s in tenth grade, in a different building most of the time. Ray doesn’t see much of him, and when they do pass in the hall they ignore each other.

 

First day at high school, Ray discovers girls. One girl in particular. He kisses Annie McRae in the cloakroom. Her mouth opens with surprise, and he dips his tongue in, then out again quickly. She doesn’t look grossed out. He grins, and kisses her again, more slowly, and she opens her mouth a little, deliberately this time. He leans against her, and goes gentle and soft. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever kissed her before, and he knows he’s a good kisser. He never really paid attention to her at middle school, but over the summer she’s grown breasts.

 

Later in the week he pulls her into the supply room, and she lets him put his hand under her blouse. Her bra feels frilly, and he wonders what colour it is. He squeezes a little - she’s soft there, feels a bit like a warm pillow - and she moans. It’s different from... well, it’s different, but he knows what it means when someone’s nipple gets hard, even if that nipple is on a tit.

 

By the third week, everyone’s calling Anne a slut, even though they’ve not done anything yet. It’s Ray’s fault for leaving a hickey on her throat where everyone can see. He sort of knows that he did it deliberately. She cries, and won’t talk to him for a bit. Ray smooth talks her, something else he’s turning out to be really good at, and then he’s making it up to her in Nicky Stango’s basement. He thinks this might be it, he might be getting somewhere, when her Pa comes down and nearly kills him. Fuck it. Ray doesn’t care. He swaggers some at school. For once he’s quite proud of his bruises - everyone knows where he got them.

 

So, the next girl is Joan, and the one after that is Carla, and then there’s Alice, and then there’s Tish. By the time he works his way to Tish he’s read just about everything he can get his hands on, pretending to study at the library and checking out Pa’s porn stash when nobody’s home. Which is hardly ever, but it’s still enough for him to get the general idea. This time he’s definitely paying attention to the girls, not the guys.

 

It’s actually Cosmo that teaches him that girls have two magic buttons. He’s reading it in the dentist’s waiting room. It’s Saturday and Ma’s at work, so he has to take Paulie, and there’s nothing else to read. If it was Frannie’s turn for the dentist, he’d have gone in with her, but Paulie’s too old for that. Problem is, Paulie’s a screamer, even though he’s just having a routine cleaning. Ray’s trying real hard to ignore the sounds from the dentist’s office. It reminds him of something. He reads an article called: ‘Is your Man a Good Lover? What Every Woman Needs to Know.’

 

Well, fuck - every guy needs to know this too. Ray had known about clits, everyone knows about clits, and Carla let him touch hers through her panties - but he’d never even heard about a g-spot. Seems like girls carry magic buttons inside them as well. He wonders if he can get a girl to come twice, in two different places at the same time.

 

That would be so fucking cool.

 

When Paulie gets out Ray throws the magazine down on the table, and stands. His kid brother is blotchy and snotty-faced, looks younger than he is.

 

“You all done?” Ray’s sounding casual, so Paulie won’t know he’s feeling sorry for him.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wanna go get a hotdog?”

 

“My mouth hurts.”

 

“So, eat it slow. Don’t have mustard.” Ray puts an arm round his shoulder, and leads him out.

 

“‘Kay,” Paulie sniffles.

 

He takes Paulie to a burger joint, and they get a booth up by the window. The whole time he’s eating, Ray’s thinking about girls, and clits, and g-spots.

 

He reckons he’ll try it on Tish first. She’s not like Anne. She really  _is_ a slut. The other boys say it’s because she’s Irish, and girls with red hair can go all night. He scoffs. Her hair’s not that red, and anyway - “Like any of  _you_  have done it,” he says.

 

After school on Monday, he asks Tish if she wants to go get a milkshake. He gets chocolate, she gets strawberry. He pays, so it’s not like he’s not treating her right.

 

They go round to the parking lot behind the church, and make out against the wall in the furthest corner where nobody can see them. Tish opens her legs. “Go on,” she says, and pulls her skirt up, her panties down. “You can look if you like.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I seen it before.” He has too, he tells himself. He’s read magazines.

 

Even so, he goes down on his knees, and sniffs her. She’s weird down there. He pokes around a bit, spreads her out with his fingers, and she’s all crinkly and strange. Plus, she’s hairier than he expected, not like the girls in the porno, and really,  _really_  ginger. Her regular hair’s more strawberry blonde, so he’s surprised that she’s darker down there.

 

Actually - he doesn’t like what she looks like. It makes him feel a bit sick, and he’s got no hard-on at all. It’s like he was expecting her to have a dick or something, and he’s just found out that she’s deformed. He doesn’t let on though. He closes his eyes, and puts his head up against her crotch. Trying not to grimace, he sticks his tongue out, and flicks, like it says to in Cosmo and the books he shouldn’t be reading at the library.

 

At first she’s making these stupid noises, like they’re in drama class or something, and she’s meant to be dying of consumption, but he keeps at it, eyes screwed shut. She can’t see him pulling faces down here, so it doesn’t matter. She’s got her hands on his head, and he feels her fingers clench. She’s getting slippery, and it’s not just his spit. She tastes salty - a bit like seafood. He read somewhere that it tastes like clams, or maybe somebody told him, and he didn’t believe it - but actually, it sort of does. Her little nub of a clit is getting bigger and harder against his tongue, and the noises she’s making sound more surprised now. She’s rubbing against his face, and it reminds him of Marco, when he’d forget himself and shove his cock hard in his mouth just before he came. It spikes through Ray vividly that he’s turning her on, that she’s not faking it anymore, and suddenly he’s hard. It’s the first time since he’s been kissing girls that any of them have made him hard.

 

 _Thank God,_ he thinks, and slips a finger up her cunt.

 

When he goes home that night, he knows that when a girl comes and she’s not faking it, she squeezes up inside, like she’s trying to suck your finger all the way in. That she spasms really hard, and really fast and it keeps going and going and going. That she’s slippy round your finger, and her lips down there keep fluttering when it’s done.

 

He jacks himself, slow and lazy, and wonders if she’ll ever let him put his whole hand up there. He wonders how wet he can get her. He wonders what it would feel like to have her cunt clench round his cock.

 

A week later, he finds out. Tish is flat on her back, with her fist shoved in her mouth, one hand white knuckling the bedspread, her legs wrapped round his waist. She still has her shoes on, and he can feel them digging into his buttocks as he thrusts. Ray’s come three times today already, twice when he woke up, which, you know, sometimes that happens - then once in the john at school. He did that one because he knew Tish was going to put out tonight, and he didn’t want to come too soon and have her think he didn’t know what he was doing.

 

That was a couple of hours ago. He was worried for a bit that he’d overdone it, that he wouldn’t get hard again so soon, but he needn’t have worried. Soon as she’s spread out, naked except for her shoes and socks, he gets it up again real fast. He doesn’t have that burning edge, so he’s good to go for as long as it takes. He spends forever playing with her tits and tonguing between her legs. His jaw aches, he’s been down there so long, but it’s going to be worth it. He waits till she’s red all over, shivering, sweating on her bedsheets and soaking wet down there. There’s even a damp patch.

 

When it comes to the moment itself, he sinks into her like he’s done this a hundred times before. He knows this is meant to be sacred or something - and maybe he should say something special for her. Not something stupid. Not that this is his first time, or that he loves her - both of those would be a lie. But it’s his first time with a girl, and he’s meant to remember this for the rest of his life. He’s grateful. All he can think though is.... All he can think is that he’s in her up to his balls, and there was no resistance at all. The guys are right. She’s a slut. It says in the books and the porno that it’s meant to hurt a girl the first time, and he’s suddenly glad he didn’t do this with Annie. Tish doesn’t look like she’s hurting. He doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t mind that at all. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He just wants to make her come her brains out and always remember he was there.

 

She’s thrashing her head around, and he doesn’t quite trust her - he’s seen her trying to fake it before, so he just sets up a steady rhythm, one hand playing with her right tit, as he suckles on her left. He’s glad he came already today - he’d have gone off in no time if he hadn’t taken care of himself. He’s never felt anything like her. She’s so smooth, it’s like fucking warm silk. She’s sopping wet in there; he could swear her tits are getting bigger beneath his hand and mouth. When he opens his eyes, she’s really flushed, like she’s been running, or she’s got sunburn. He can’t see her freckles at all, and her blue eyes are really dark. He grins, nips her nipple and flicks it with his tongue, the way Marco used to like. Then he shifts onto his elbows, and speeds his hips up a bit.

 

“You like this?” he whispers. His voice has gone rough.

 

“Yeah,” she stutters out.

 

He nearly calls her a slut then.  _‘You slut, tell me you like it.’_  For a minute he loses the beat, can’t figure out why he’d want to say such a nasty thing. ’Cause, maybe she  _is_  a slut, but so's he, and you just don’t say that to a girl. Definitely not when you’re banging her.

 

He pinches her nipples, and they peak even harder. She moans, and he remembers about her clit. He shifts his angle a bit, licks his fingers, and slips one hand between them. “Ray,” she moans, and clenches. He keeps fucking her - deep, steady and slow. It’s like learning a new dance at school - he’s not a natural dancer, but he’s got some grace, and knows how to fake things, how to slow down and concentrate. It’s working here. He rubs at the v of her groin with the tip of one finger, really light, the way she likes it, feathering her clit. Somehow his hips keep up the rhythm.

 

“Fuck!” she cries out, and then she’s clenching, spasming around his cock as her whole body arches back like a bow. It feels like she’s wet herself, it’s all over his hand now.

 

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he says, smug with victory. “Fuck you.” He drives into her harder, faster. He can let himself go now - she’s come. She groans again, and she’s still spasming. He can’t believe the clench, how wet she is, how good this is - but he can’t quite finish. He keeps thrusting, and when he looks at her, her eyes are scrunched shut, and she’s biting her lip like she’s in pain. Her hair is all sweaty against the pillow, curling up against her forehead, and she’s not quite breathing right. He begins to panic. He thinks she’s still coming, but he doesn’t know. How long can a girl come for?

 

And - oh God. He’s going to have to pull out. He wants to come inside her, just to know he’s done it once, but he can’t. He can’t come, and she looks like she’s dying. He doesn’t want to fuck her to death.

 

As soon he thinks it, there’s a weird flash of memory. He feels it in his own body, like someone’s got a finger or a cock up his ass. Someone fucking him to death, and he can’t breath -

 

He shoots up inside her, and the memory is gone. He’s feeling sick, and he doesn’t know why.

 

Finally, finally he’s done it. He’s done it with a girl.

 

“Jesus Christ,” she says, when she’s got her breath back. “You’re good.”

 

He rolls off her, and lies on his back, gasping at the ceiling. “Yeah, well,” he says. “I did warn you.”

***

 

After Tish word gets around that he’s good in the sack. Girls must talk about sex as much as guys do - that’s all Ray can think. He gets offers.

 

For the most part, he turns them down. Apart from Lucia. No way a living man is going to turn it down with Lucia. Blind old nuns wouldn’t turn it down with Lucia.

 

But apart from that he goes sort of steady with Tish for the next month or so. He tries a few more times with Lucia just to be sure, and he’s right. Tish isn’t as pretty as Lucia, but she’s better at it.

 

Even so, thing’s are getting a bit heavy, so when Tish starts hanging out with an older guy Ray is actually relieved. He should feel mean about it, but still... it gets him off the hook. The other guy’s called Adam. He has a job, grey hair, and a car. Tish is all tearful, telling Ray that she really loves him, but this other guy proposed.

 

Ray shrugs. “He’s probably married already. How old is he, fifty?”

 

“Thirty-eight. And he loves me,” Tish protests. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, right.” Ray leans back against the church wall, crosses his legs at the ankle, like he’s propping the building up.

 

“No, really. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 

Ray thinks about it. He isn’t feeling hurt. He doesn’t really feel much of anything except when he’s having sex. He’s got no clue what that’s about.

 

For a minute he thinks about being a jackass. Brushing her off, making her feel bad for dumping him. If the other guys were here, he probably would do. He frowns, puzzled at himself. Why would he care what they think? It’s not like he wants to be a dick about it.

 

Besides, the other guys aren’t here.

 

“It’s okay,” he says, magnanimously. “It’s your life. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

 

She sniffles, and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. It looks gross. “I’m really sorry,” she says. He nods, and wishes she would just go away. “If you ever need to... if you ever need someone to talk to....”

 

Why the hell would he want to talk to Tish?

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I know.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and pushes away from the wall, prepared to walk off, if that’s what it takes to end this conversation. She’s still looking miserable. He feels a twist of sympathy in his gut. He knows this guy Adam’s bad news. He knows the guy’s just fucking her ’cause she’s easy. He knows that, because he did it himself. So, what does that make Ray?

 

“Listen,” he says. “You let me know. If that guy hurts you....”

 

“He won’t hurt me.”

 

“Yeah. But if he does, you know where I am.”

 

“I know.”

***

 

Six months later, Tish’s mother has thrown her out, and Adam’s dumped her. She’s about four months pregnant, and living at her Grandma’s.

 

Ray’s waiting at the corner by Adam’s office block with Nicky, Tommy, Fredo and a few of the older guys. She didn’t ask for help, but he heard what happened and he thinks he owes her.

 

First time he sinks his fist into another man’s face he finally feels like a grown up. There’s a rush of power, right from his knuckles up to his shoulder, snapping all the way through him. The crunch of that sad bastard’s nose as it breaks is better than sex.

 

When Ray gets home, Pa’s sitting at the kitchen table. “Son,” he says, and Ray knows he already knows. Somebody’s told him what he did to Adam. Pa kicks a chair out from under the table, and Ray sits. Pa fills up a second tumbler, and pushes it to Ray. “Son,” he says again, and grins like he really loves him. “My boy.” He reaches across the table, and ruffles Ray’s hair. “Drink up.”

 

So Ray sits at the kitchen table with the Old Man, and drinks the bourbon. Pa pulls out a battered deck of cards and they play poker. The next day when Ray’s finished throwing up he pretends not to see how disappointed Ma is with him. Couple of days later, the police are knocking at the door, and Ma says he’d been there all Tuesday night.

 

After that it’s all round school that Ray’s a badass. Even Frankie nods at him in the lunch hall, and the other guys start making space for him, asking his opinion about things, laughing at his jokes. So, that’s all good.

 

Only problem is, now Tish thinks there’s maybe a chance and tries to get back with him. He does his best to let her down easy. She’s not going to school anymore, in case her example corrupts the other girls - the nuns are teaching her - but sometimes she’s hanging around at the gates when he’s trying to go home. He keeps telling her it’s too late, gives her the whole spiel, but she looks at him with those big sad eyes and he feels like it’s his fault. She keeps coming back. One day she’s crying at the front door and Ray gets dizzy. He’s just so fucking scared he’s going to hit her.

 

“Go away, Tish,” he says. “It’s not like I’m even the father.”

 

“Ray,” she pleads. “I made a mistake. Everyone makes a mistake.”

 

“Yeah, that’s no reason for me to make one. I’m not even fifteen yet.”

 

“You are next week.”

 

“Tish.” Ray takes a deep breath. “Listen to me. Go. A. Way.”

 

“Please.”

 

He hears himself, but he can’t stop the words.

 

“Just get the fuck out of here, you stupid fucking slut.”

 

He has nightmares for a while after that, only instead of cursing he hits her, just to make her go. But, a couple of weeks go by, and he doesn’t see her. Apparently she’s gone. ‘Slut’ must be the magic word. Which - fine. So, he said a horrible thing, and he really hopes Ma or Frannie didn’t hear him. But other than that he shouldn’t feel bad about it. Tish finally got the message. And it’s not like he needed her anyway. By now Ray’s got a reputation, a bunch of guys to hang out with, and there’s enough girls to go round without all of Tish’s complications.

 

Ma thinks at first he might be the father, but when the baby comes, he’s ginger too, and it’s obvious Adam’s the Dad. Map of Ireland all across that kid’s face, not a drop of Paisano in him. It’s only when Ray sees Tish’s grandma pushing the kid round in the buggy that he realises how damn scared he’d been. Tish has completely dropped out of school, doesn’t even go to the nuns anymore, and he only sees her at Mass. First time she shows at church, a month or so after the baby’s born, Ma leans sideways in the pew and whispers in Ray’s ear, “I thank God you didn’t settle for that one.”

 

Ray thinks -  _Ma thinks I’m a slut._

 

Then he thinks -  _Ma’s right._

 ***

 

Next couple of years at high school are easier - less drama. His grades are down and Ma worries about it, but it’s not like he’s going to college. He’s just about managing an average grade, except in math, where he gets bumped down to the bozos. That doesn’t matter. He sits next Tommy and Fredo, and they razz on the teacher.

 

Since the whole thing with Tish though, he’s more careful. He doesn’t finish inside girls anymore - he always waits till they’ve come a few times, then he pulls out. There’s some near misses at first - with a couple of girls he comes between their thighs before he gets the hang of it. But then he figures out what he’s doing. He likes making girls lose their minds - he’s in charge now.

 

Sometimes though, he wishes he could let himself go a little bit crazy too. Maybe there’s such a thing as too much control. Sometimes he stays hard for so long he could fucking cry, and sometimes he can’t even come. But the girls don’t mind - they don’t seem to notice. He must be the only guy on the planet who fakes it.

 

Nobody’s let him fuck them up the ass yet. Carla likes it when he fucks between her tits, and most of them let him come in their mouths. Sometimes he just jacks himself off and spurts all over them. He feels kinda bad about that, like it might be disrespectful, but every now and then he can’t help himself. Especially if he’s been at it for a while and the girl’s a bit tan - his spunk looks all white and glistening then, and he licks it off, plays with her a bit more to make up for it. Usually he can squeeze one more orgasm out of her.

 

By now he’s really got himself a reputation.

 

One night he’s at a party. Carla’s parents are out of town and everyone’s getting wasted. He doesn’t much like booze - reminds him of Pa, and he doesn’t like getting completely trashed - but he’s a little bit buzzed. He’s gonna have to ask Nicky where he got those pills from. Even so, he isn’t losing it. When he pulls out of Carla he’s about to ask her to finish him off in her mouth, then someone clears their throat. He looks over his shoulder, and it’s Lucia.

 

“Bet you can’t do me.”

 

So, he does Lucia, and when he pulls out he’s still hard and Carla’s grinning. “Hey,” she says. “You should go for a record.” She calls in one of her cousins - Ray never saw her before today, doesn’t even know her name, just that she’s twenty-one, from out of state, and she’s supposed to be babysitting.

 

“You up for this?” he asks her, and she laughs.

 

“Are you?”

 

“I’m always up for it, Baby.”

 

Next thing he knows, he’s got an audience. There’s three girls on the king-sized bed, and a bunch of guys at the door. Fuck. One of them’s Frankie. He can feel him watching him. Carla and Lucia are sucking the cousin’s tits and playing with his ass; one of them gets her finger inside him. It’s not quite right - too dry, and the fingernail’s scratching him - but it’s sending up flares, right where he hasn’t been touched in so long. He’s kinda scared with all those guys watching him - they shouldn’t see him with a finger up his ass - but the babysitter’s coming like there’s no tomorrow and he feels like he’s on fire. Tommy says, “fuck, Vecchio, you should be in porno.”

 

He can’t help it. He comes his brains out, right in the babysitter's cunt.

 

That’s okay. He never sees the woman again.

***

 

The first time Ray ever dances with Irene Zuko is in PE class, start of his third year. She keeps trying to lead. He’s semi-hard in his pants, but he’s used to that when there’s a girl hanging on to him. What he’s not used to is dancing with Irene. He never even  _looked_  at her before - not like that. Out of all the girls in school, she’s the one girl who’s off limits.

 

But here she is, scowling at their feet, stumbling over the dance steps.

 

“Hey,” he says, and settles his hand on her waist. “Relax.”

 

She glares at him. “I can’t,” she says pointedly. “You keep tripping over my feet.”

 

“That’s ’cause you’re leading.”

 

“Well, someone has to,” she fires back, and flicks her hair over her shoulder. She’s looking pissed, like she’s trying to wind him up, make him angry. Ray isn’t falling for it. He looks down, where her arm’s on his, and sees bruises on her wrist, purple and yellow, like someone’s been painting on her. Fingerprints. His heart clenches a little at that. He’s had marks like that. Someone's twisted her arm. He wants to ask her if it’s her Pa or Frankie beating on her, but he doesn’t know her that well.

 

“It’s okay,” he says, gently. “Just put your head on my shoulder and close your eyes. Everything's going to be okay.”

 

He doesn’t know why, but it feels like a promise, like he’s just taken a vow. She looks up at him, with something like recognition on her face, like maybe he’d said it before. Like maybe they’ve know each other forever, and they’re really friends. Then, astonishingly, blindingly, she smiles. She smiles and Ray’s heart flips right over.

 

“Okay,” she says, and rests her head on his shoulder, shuts her eyes. His arms tighten a little, and then, somehow, they’re dancing.

 

They are really dancing, and Ray doesn’t have to try at all.

***

 

No way Ray can make a move on Frankie Zuko’s kid sister. No way. Even though Frankie’s left school now, away in Atlantic City learning the family 'business' for a year before going to college. The guy could still hear about it though, come back and kill him. Her  _Pa_  could hear about it and kill him. Ray worries about it for a couple of weeks and doesn’t have sex at all, which is a record. He doesn’t even jack himself off - it’s been feeling weird for a while when he comes, burny. His balls are sore too, hot and achey. Maybe he’s been overdoing it, and he should take a break. He’s got a bit of a fever in the mornings, shakes and shivers, gets the sweats. He doesn’t actually feel like being with anyone while he’s feeling like that. He’s tired all the time.

 

But Carla’s a bit funny about it, and when he hears some of her friends sniggering about him, he thinks, ‘fuck it.’ That weekend he makes up for his abstinence. He forgets he’s feeling run down, he forgets about Irene, he even forgets he doesn’t like booze. Carla’s flying on something. She’s been eating mushrooms or peyote or some shit - he doesn’t bother to ask. So long as she’s not snorting something or sticking it in her arm he won’t get too worried about her. He’s seen what that crap does, and it’s not for him.

 

They go out dancing - not ballroom stuff like at school, but sweaty heavy stuff - and they get thrown out of one place for fucking in the john. After that they go some place else - he doesn’t remember where - with some people he’s never met before. This one guy lets him drive his car, and the windows are down, air blowing in, music blaring. The guy’s got his hand on his leg, and the people in the backseat are laughing and passing a bottle. He’s enjoying himself - he’s got a lot of new friends.  

 

When he wakes up on Sunday afternoon he feels like crap. His lungs are stinging, his head is ringing - spaced out and strange. He’s fucking starving, and he smells of pot. There’s a big guy on the bed, broad, a little bit paunchy, and about twenty years older than him and Carla. The guy’s still got his suit on, but he’s all unbuttoned and his dick’s hanging out. He’s got a wedding ring. Ray’s ass is burning, and he feels hollow up inside. Oh shit. He thinks he might have let the guy fuck him. Carla’s still asleep, and he doesn’t want to face her, in case she remembers what he did.

 

Carefully he slips out of bed, and looks round for his clothes. Takes a while to find his shoes, then he’s out of there, nearly tripping over some naked guys passed out in the hallway. They don’t move, and he tiptoes down the stairs, past a row of family photographs. Ray wonders where the wife and kids are, how often the guy in the bed does this kind of thing - then figures that he really doesn’t want to know.

 

 _Where the hell am I?_  he wonders, staring at the suburban street. Guy lives in a nice house, in a nice little burb - trees, and driveways and everything - but Ray’s never been here in his life. He sees the guy’s car - a Beemer, God, really sweet - he can’t believe the guy let him drive it. No wonder Ray let him fuck him up the ass. For a brief moment Ray considers hotwiring it, getting home that way. Even a little bit wasted though, he knows better than to get arrested for Grand Theft Auto. This wouldn’t be like stealing a ride from Tommy’s brother. A guy with a Beemer would definitely report it missing. Besides, he’s not sure he’d be safe behind a wheel. Probably wrap it round a streetlight or something.

 

Takes him a while to orient himself - he’s limping around for about half an hour before he figures where he is - then he’s got to walk home, because he doesn’t have any money for the L.

 

It starts raining. He can feel dry stuff flaking between his buttocks and on the back of his legs. He knows that when he gets a chance to clean himself up there’s going to be spunk all over him. Shit. He really  _did_  let the guy fuck him.

 

Just for a minute he thinks of turning away from Chicago, and walking down the freeway. He could hitch a ride to anywhere else. He doesn’t want to go home. He knows when he gets there that Ma will ask him what he’s been doing since Friday, where he’s been, who he’s been with. That she’ll ask him where he went to Mass, and pretend not to smell the pot on him. That she’ll pretend not to know he’s been off fucking around Chicago like a whore.

 

And the worst is,  _he’s_  not even sure what he did. He knows he did a lot of it, and he knows that at least once with Carla he forgot to pull out. He’s stinging down there again. He thinks for the hundredth time that maybe he should stop fucking about so much, before his dick falls off.

 

When he gets home he has a shower, and there’s some blood in the water. He slips a finger up inside just to check, and it’s tingly, really sore, but in a good way. He shoulda lubed up before he put his finger in, but it feels like someone already did that for him; he’s all slimy, and he’s still open up there. He’s disgusting. Oh God. How many times did the guy do him? He’s been gone since Friday. He thinks of the naked guys in the hallway, and feels sick. Did anyone else do him? He doesn’t have a clue. He starts jacking himself, leaning his head on the tiles as the water runs around him, shoving his hand in as far as it will go, twisting up against that bruised spot inside. He pushes hard, squeezes his cock, and - yeah. Like that. Oh. Yeah. He’s an idiot. He comes all over the wall, and watches the water washing it away. He hates himself. He let the guy fuck him.

 

So now he  _can’t_  back off. Not after that. Carla doesn’t say anything, so maybe she doesn’t remember. But then again, maybe she does, so he’s got something to prove. He starts ditching school just to fuck girls, the kind of girls who’ll brag about it, so people won’t start thinking he’s a fanook again.

 

Though, now he’s thinking maybe he  _is_  a fanook. He can’t stop thinking about guys, wondering who banged him and how often, how many times he came, and he can’t stop doing himself up there. He uses anything he can think of - beer bottles are the best. He cracks the top off, and chugs it, then he goes for it. He knows you can buy toys for this kinda thing, but he’s not going that far.

 

Finally he gets Carla to let him fuck her up the ass, and the whole time he’s doing it, he’s got his eyes shut, and pretending it’s - someone. It’s tighter up her ass than her cunt - but weirdly less responsive. He thinks maybe she’s not enjoying it so much, she doesn’t have a magic button up there after all, and he wishes he hadn’t made her do it, but now he’s in there he can’t stop. He doesn’t have a clear picture in his head who it is he wants to be fucking, but they’ve got broader shoulders than a girl, and a slimmer, more muscular butt; their head turned on the pillow is lightly stubbled at the jaw. In his imagination, he’s got his hand wrapped underneath them, and he’s pulling on a cock. He wonders how Marco’s doing, what he looks like these days, and he comes.

 

Even so, even though things are going alright at the moment, he feels like there’s something wrong. Seems like no matter who he’s banging, or how often, or how hard he jacks himself, or how often he fucks himself up the ass, it’s not enough. He saw something on daytime TV about sex addicts, and he wonders if he’s one. He must be - he’s hard all the time, just thinking about letting that guy fuck him, and whoever else might have been up there. He can’t stop wondering if he should let some other guy do him too. He’d have to go to a gay bar for that, some place really far out of the neighbourhood. And he’d have to get totally wasted, but if he does it again he wants to remember it this time. He wishes he could remember the guy, and at the same time he’s glad he can’t. He thinks about it when he’s fucking Carla, or Tracy, or Sarah, or Joan. When he thinks of that weekend he sort of remembers being in Carla and someone being in him at the same time, thinks Carla came and he came in two places at the same time... cock going off like a rocket, and that secret place right inside him burning and blossoming. But... he’s not sure if that’s just his imagination. He’s got a really dirty mind after all. He wakes up sweating in the mornings from sex dreams, and he can’t even get out of bed till he’s sorted himself out. Every time he comes it hurts, but he just can’t stop jacking himself off.

  

Hurts when he’s pissing too. He’s getting kinda worried.

 

And in amongst all of that, there’s Irene. Irene the untouchable. Raising her hand when when the teacher calls attendance, looking at him sideways in the hall, giggling with her girlfriends at lunch. Ray tries not to watch them too much. He’s fucked three of the girls - they’re probably back there comparing notes, and telling Irene what to expect.

 

No way he’s going to make a move on Frankie Zuko’s sister.

 

No way.

***

 

One morning, it takes forever for him just to piss. He’s squinting with pain, Frannie’s rapping at the door asking how long he’s going to be, and if he doesn’t get out of there  _right now_  she’s going to wet herself. He pushes one hand at the top of his pubic bone to put pressure on his bladder, and when he looks down at the toilet bowl, he’s pissing blood.

 

“Fuck off, Frannie!” he yells, and then there’s silence on the other side of the door. A minute later, Ma’s hammering on it.

 

“What did you say to your sister?”

 

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he manages, squeezing out one last drop of pink piss. Oh God. There’s a streak of green. “I’m sick.”

 

“Get out of there now, and apologise to your sister.”

 

Ray flushes the toilet, and rinses his hands. Stares at the swirling water for a minute, then shakes himself and gets out of there.

 

Frannie’s sitting at the top of the stairs in her school uniform, crying silently. Ray realises he never swore at her before, that he sounded just like Pa. He sits next to her. He wants to put his arm around her, but now he’s worried that he’s got some terrible sex disease and he might be contagious, even through her blazer. Instead he says, “I’m sorry, Sis.”

 

She sniffs, and turns her head away. He wishes he could hug her, but he doesn’t know whether it’s safe. If he has the clap, he could be infecting everyone in the house for all he knows. “I’m really sorry,” he insists.

 

“Yeah, right,” she says, and gets up to go to the bathroom.

 

Ray runs down the stairs and grabs his coat. He’s ditching school again today. He has to go to the free clinic.

***

 

A week later he’s back at the clinic waiting for his results. He’s given a false age, and a false name, backed up by the false ID he uses to get into clubs, but he doesn’t think it matters either way. The receptionist doesn’t seem that interested, and the doctor’s looking frazzled.

 

“Mr Esposa,” she says, like he’s really a grown-up, and examines her piece of paper. “I’m going to prescribe you a series of antibiotics. You’ll need to take all of them, exactly as prescribed and -”

 

“What have I got?” Ray asks, urgently. He’s thinking, syphilis, the plague, whatever that new one is that the gays have been getting. If he’s got that he’s going to have to tell Ma, and it will kill her.

 

“Gonorrhea,” the doctor says in a matter of fact tone of voice. “Of course, you’ll have to tell your sexual partners -”

 

“What?” Ray blurts out.  _“All_  of them?”

 

The doctor looks at him, and raises an eyebrow. She’s plump, and kind of frowsy, and Ray has a stupid moment where he thinks maybe he could bang her - he’s never done it with a woman her age, and maybe she’d let him. Plus, he’s never done it with a black woman either, and underneath her cardigan her tits are nice and big. But he thinks that kind of crap all the time now, and this is fucking stupid. She’s old enough to be his mother.

 

“Yes,” she says. “You should tell all of them.”

 

“Shit,” Ray says, and clears his throat. He feels weird swearing in front of her. It’s like swearing in front of a nun, or Ma or something. “Sorry. I just....” He looks out the window at the dirty street outside. “I can’t remember them all.”

 

“Well then,” she says, wryly. “Just do your best. And don’t have relations with anyone until at least seven days after you have finished your series of antibiotics.”

 

“Or what?” Ray asks, and waves vaguely in the area of his groin. “It’s not gonna... I mean... it’s not gonna shrivel up or fall off or something?”

 

“No, Mr Esposa.” She raises her notes, looks for a moment as though she’s hiding behind them, trying to smother a laugh. He doesn’t like that. “Your penis will not fall off.” Then she looks serious. “It may affect your future fertility though. At some later point you might want to have that checked out.”

 

Ray doesn’t hear any of that. All he’s thinking is,  _thank God, thank God, my dick’s not gonna fall off._

 

“Listen,” he asks. “What are the chances - I mean, what are the chances I’ll give this to someone else? I mean... by accident?”

 

“Well, if you don’t have sex with someone else, then you won’t infect them.”

 

“So,” Ray blushes. “So, I don’t have to wipe the toilet with bleach or anything? I mean, my Ma or kid brother won’t get it if they sit down on the lid or anything?”

 

“No,” she says, with a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.

 

“And... they won’t get anything from drinking out of the same cup as me? Or... like if I hug my little sister? I’m not going to give her the clap or something?”

 

“No,” the doctor says. “See?” she adds, and reaches out to touch his hand. “Normal social contact won’t spread it. Neither will using the toilet or sharing utensils. Just don’t have sex with anyone until you’ve finished the antibiotics. That means, no oral, no vaginal, no anal.”

 

“I don’t do anal,” Ray lies.

 

“Just covering all the options,” she says, mildly. “And then, to make sure this doesn’t happen again, use condoms.”

 

Ray looks at her hand where it’s resting on his. She’s got pretty fingers for a plump woman. She moves back and the connection is gone. He really wants to fuck her. “Condoms?” He flushes, and swallows hard. He can feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and blushes harder. “Nobody uses condoms. I mean, condoms are for pussies, I mean....” Ray hears what he said and cringes, buries his face in his hands. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” the doctor says. “Just be more careful in the future. Take a leaflet about safe sex. And there are free condoms in a basket at the door.”

 

“What, seriously?”

 

“Yes,” she says. “Seriously.” She pauses. “The leaflet will tell you how to put it on. If you’ve never used one before, it’s worth trying it out by yourself at first.”

 

Ray stares at her. She looks completely unembarrassed. “Listen,” he says. “I wondered... would you like a coffee sometime?”

 

She looks amused at him, and he crumples inside with shame.

 

“No,” she says. “But thank you for the offer.”

 

“Yeah, right.” He stands up, and wishes the floor would just swallow him up. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll die of embarrassment instead. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright, Mr Esposa,” she says. “Make a follow-up appointment on the way out, a couple of weeks from now. I’m sure if you stick to the antibiotics and behave yourself you’ll be fine.”

 

 _Fine,_ Ray thinks.  _Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I just found out I’ve got the clap, and I came on to the woman who told me. And she’s probably going to be laughing about it for a week._

 

He lets himself out, picks up his prescription, and grabs a bunch of condoms at the door. He remembers on the way home that he should have made a follow-up appointment, but that’s okay. Now that he knows what’s wrong and that he’s not Typhoid Mary he doesn’t need to come back. He doesn’t want to spend another hour or two sitting in a waiting room with a bunch of scruffy homeless guys. And it’s not like he ever wants to see that doctor again.

***

 

Carla takes it badly. She yells at him that he’s a dirty fucking pervert, and he yells at her that she’s a stupid fucking whore, and then she smacks him in the face, right in front of everyone in the yard. To be fair, this was the worst place to tell her. He’d hoped it would keep her quiet, that she wouldn’t want to make a scene. He was wrong.

 

“Why didn’t you hit her back?” Tommy asks later, when he’s got out of the Principle’s office.

 

“Men don’t hit women,” Ray says, curtly.

 

“Yeah, well. She gave you the clap.”

 

Ray shrugs. “Coulda been anyone,” he says. Tommy grins, and offers him a cigarette. As usual, Ray turns it down. Tommy flicks it into his mouth, lights and inhales.

 

“Your Ma’s gonna kill you when she finds out,” he says, breathing out smoke. Ray slumps a little. Of course Ma’s gonna find out now. The Principle will tell her.

 

“Yeah, well,” he says, affecting nonchalance. “If she doesn’t like it, I’ll just move out.”

***

 

Ma reacts even worse than he thought she would. She doesn’t shout, she doesn’t rail, she doesn’t drag him to the priest for Confession. As far as he can tell she doesn’t even pray for him. She just stops talking to him. The kids stop talking to him. Maria stops talking to him. The new boyfriend, Tony, stops talking to him. He still hangs out with the guys from school, but even though they’re someone to talk to, he kinda hates them.

 

The only person in the family who will talk to him is Pa.

 

Ray’s so fucking lonely that he lets him. Ray’s so fucking lonely that he goes with him to the bar, spends his days shooting pool with the old man, playing cards, and once he’s finished his antibiotics and doesn’t have an excuse anymore he starts drinking fucking bourbon. When he was a kid, wanting to go camping with him, he’d have loved this, just spending time with his Old Man. Now he hates it. It’s like Pa has finally got some respect for him. Like - all Ray had to do to get his father’s love and affection was treat women like dirt and get a disease.

 

He quite likes shooting pool though, and after a drink or two he quite likes Pa’s friends.

 

He’s not going to school at all anymore. But he’s still not fucking, even when the clap has cleared up. He jacks himself off into condoms, and learns how to tie them up so they don’t leak. Learns that if he doesn’t squeeze the bubble on top when he puts them on they’ll burst. Learns to put them on carefully so they don’t tear. Shows Nicky and Tommy how to do it, because they’re interested, and watches them do it too. Thinks about someday, maybe, using a rubber on another human being.

 

Assuming another human being will ever touch him again.

 

It’s not until Pa brings him on a job that he realises just how far down the toilet his life has gone.

***

 

The old Chinese guy behind the counter has his hands up over his head, apologising, his words hard to understand because of his accent. Pa and a couple of his friends are crowding him, and Pa is emptying the till.

 

“I know you’re not from this neighbourhood,” Pa is saying, “but round here, we’re a community. Mr Zuko expects to be paid on time for his protection.”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Sir,” the shopkeeper says.

 

“Yeah, well,” Pa grunts. “Don’t let it happen again.” He nods at Ray. “Get us a bottle, Son,” he says, then pauses. “Actually, make that two.”

 

Ray says nothing, just stares. Pa stares back, eyes narrowing. “Did you hear me?”

 

Ray turns his back and walks out of the shop. Walks down the street. Walks down an empty alley, and pukes by the dumpster.

 

Then he walks home, the long way. He imagines hitting Pa, imagines beating him up in a dark alley. He imagines going back to the old Chinese guy and giving him back his money. He imagines finding Old Man Zuko, and blowing his head off with a gun. He knows where to get a gun. Guns are easy.

 

He doesn’t do any of those things. He lets himself into the house, and locks the door. Leaves the key in it, puts the latch on to make it harder for Pa to get back in. He goes upstairs, and knocks on Ma’s bedroom door.

 

“Sorry, Ma,” he says, when she opens it. She tilts her head, looks accusing.

 

“Have you been drinking?” she asks. It’s the first thing she’s said to him in weeks.

 

“Yeah,” he admits. “I won’t do it again.”

 

She sniffs. “I’ve heard that before.”

 

“I mean it,” he says, and swallows. He wants to cry. He wants to be a baby again. He wants her to hug him better. “I’m really sorry.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, and he goes to his room. He knows she won’t believe him. Why should she? Pa made the same apologies and promises. Ray knows he’ll just have to prove it to her.

 

Next day, even though he’s hungover, he goes back to school.

***

 

It’s about a month before Ma believes him. One morning he’s fixing himself breakfast, and she walks into the kitchen, pats his shoulder briefly. “Sit down, Raimondo,” she says. “I’ll do that.”

 

She fries him up some bacon, scrambles a couple of eggs. Mixes up some vanilla frescante in the blender. It’s just the powdered stuff, but it’s the first time she’s made him anything special in months. His throat seizes up, and he can hardly swallow the first sip. He blinks hard, and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

 

“Grazie, Mama,” he chokes out.

 

“Di niente, Raimondo.” She pretends not to see that he’s crying, but when she walks past she kisses the top of his head. He grabs her hand, and squeezes. “Mio povero bambino,” she says. He blinks again and it hits him.

 

She’s been praying for him all along.

***

 

He has to work his guts out to make up his grades. English he’s catching up on, and Latin is quite easy when he puts his mind to it - it’s just like Italian after all. He’s pissed with himself. He could have made honours in English and Latin at least, if he hadn’t been such a jackass. Not to mention Italian. He speaks Italian for God’s sake - how had he been getting failing grades in La Lingua Madre? Science is a drag though. Not that he can’t understand it, just that he’s missed so much of it, and he’s so behind in his reading. Math is still a nightmare. He’s trying to listen to the teacher these days, instead of throwing spitballs at him, and heckling all the time. Tommy and Fredo start razzing on him, and he has to move away from their table. They keep kicking him under the desk and trying to show him dirty pictures.

 

For a while, though, some of the other guys still try to make nice with him. After all, everyone remembers what Ray did to Adam that time. They all know his Pa works for Old Man Zuko, and they all know he banged the brains out of every girl who’d open her legs to him. They’ve even seen him do it. Some of the guys who’d been at Carla’s that time keep asking him out clubbing or partying, like they think some of his sexual mojo will rub off on them or something, bring them luck. And some of the girls are still asking him if he wants to come round sometime after school - he knows what  _that_  means. Don’t they got any self respect? Everyone knows he’s a slut - he had the clap even - why would anyone want to do it with him?

 

After a while though, they stop asking him. After a while it’s not just Tommy and Fredo - all his old guys start jostling him in the hall, making snarky comments as he passes. After a while the girls are whispering behind their hands, and calling him names. Carla tells everyone he’s a fanook - that she saw this guy banging him, and he liked it. Tommy and Nicky tell people he came onto them, and he uses condoms. Then the Frankie story starts being spread about again, and nobody’s talking to him at all.

 

He reckons it can’t get much worse.

 

So what if he sometimes comes home with bruises? He tells Ma it was just rough stuff at Phys Ed. One time he gets his head flushed in a toilet, another time his locker is full of gay porno and condoms. Ray ignores it, makes sure he’s never in the locker room without a teacher around, never uses the school shower, even though Mr Smithson makes him join the basketball team. He’s still good at the game, when the other boys can be bothered to pass.

 

Instead of complaining, he hits the books. Although he does sneak a couple of the dirty magazines out of his locker and brings them home when nobody’s looking. The rest of it, he just dumps in the trash.

 

He wishes Marco was still around, so he could have a study buddy. If Marco was still around, he wouldn’t be failing Math. If Marco was still around, none of this crap would have happened.

 

Of course, it’s his fault Marco’s not still around.

 

He’s got to stop thinking about Marco. He’s  _not_  thinking about Marco. He’s thinking about Irene.

***

 

Irene’s the one kid in school who isn’t ignoring him, or treating him like shit. When it comes to the dance lessons she always chooses him as her partner, even though she gets some snickers from the other girls. He doesn’t care. It’s nice to touch someone, even if he’s never going to touch her  _that_  way. They move well together, and have whispered conversations about nothing. It’s nice to have someone to talk to at school, even though he worries he’s making her look bad.

 

Even little Paulie won’t talk to him, since he started at high school. Not  _in_  school, anyway, or even if they run into each other outside. On the other hand, he does talk to him when they’re home and nobody can see them. Things at home are doing okay anyway -  Pa hasn’t hit anyone in months, which sort of surprises Ray. He’d thought for sure Pa would go ballistic after Ray turned his back on him.

 

But Pa’s just in and out, like he’s always been. Lying in bed till all hours, away from the house for days, doing whatever jobs he does, coming and going as he likes. Ray has a better idea now how Pa spends his time. He wonders if the bastard will ever do something so bad he’ll get put away for it. It’s not like he hasn’t been arrested before, but Zuko’s got a good lawyer for his guys, so Pa always gets off on a technicality. Plus, there’s always some convenient witness saying ‘he was with us, on the other side of town.’ Couple of times, Ray’s even lied to the police for him - ‘yeah, he was home all night’ - and Ma goes along with it too, like she did for Ray, after he beat the crap out of Adam. Ray reckons he’s a coward, and he shoulda called the cops, that night Pa was hustling Mr Wong’s grocery store. It’s not a nice feeling, knowing he’s a coward, but he’s learned to accept that about himself, since what happened with Marco.

 

At least, these days, he’s not breaking Ma’s heart.

 

At the end of his third year he’s so damn scared he’s failed everything that he doesn’t even open the envelope. Doesn’t go into the sports hall to see the grades for finals posted up on the wall. He sticks the results into his blazer, and goes home quickly, already seeing the look on Ma’s face when she realises he’s messed up again.

 

She’s singing in the kitchen - that’s good. Means Pa’s not home. Something smells nice - she’s made a good meal, either to celebrate or console. He really hopes it doesn’t ruin dinner on everybody, when he proves yet again what a fucking loser he is.

 

“Raimondo,” she says, turning with a smile. Then her face drops. “Oh,” she says, trying to hide her disappointment. “Never mind. I know you tried your best.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he says, and puts the envelope on the table. She flashes him a look of sympathy, then opens the envelope. There’s a brief moment where her face crinkles into a puzzled frown, then she’s beaming. Ray can’t understand it, but she’s grinning like her face is about to crack open.

 

“You didn’t see these yet, did you?”

 

“Uhm... no.”

 

She lays the piece of paper flat on the table. “Look, Raimondo.”

 

He looks.

 

Well... Holy crap.

 

“I....” he stutters. “I passed.”

 

“You passed.” She points at his grades. “See? You even got two A’s.”

 

He did too. Italian, Latin.

 

B for English.

 

C+ for everything else, except Math. For Math he got a D+. He winces. “Sorry about the Math,” he says.

 

“You passed.” Ma slaps the table triumphantly.

 

“Only just,” he says, still looking at his Math grade.

 

She walks around the table, and hugs him. “I knew you could do it,” she says. Suddenly he’s grinning too.

 

“Hey,” he says, as it dawns on him. “I got a chance.”

 

“You do.”

 

“I’ll, uh... I’ll go to summer school, try to make it up.”

 

“You’ll do better than try,” Ma tells him. “You’ll do it.”

 

And he does. He actually does.

***

 

First day at summer school, and he already knows this is going to be a hell of a lot easier than regular school. For a start, there aren’t that many kids in the class, and most of them want to learn. The kids who should be going but can’t give a damn just don’t turn up, so it’s Ray and a bunch of other goody-two-shoes sitting up front, and nobody heckling anyone, or throwing spitballs, or calling him a fanook, or kicking him under the table. He actually gets to ask the teachers questions, and the other kids are all nodding and taking notes and interested, and asking questions themselves.

 

He’s  _enjoying_  school again, and he can’t remember how long it’s been since he was actually glad to go.

 

He’s kinda surprised though to see Irene in the hall. She’s on track for college, and he thought she was too smart for summer school. They’re not in the same classes, though. He’s doing Science and Math, she’s doing something else.

 

At the end of that first day, she’s leaning against the railings outside the school as he’s stepping out the gate. “No dancing,” she says with a little smirk. “Shame.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray blushes, like he’s never talked to a girl before. He’s never really talked to her outside of Phys Ed. It feels weird.

 

“So,” she falls into step beside him. “What you in for?”

 

“Math and Science,” he says. “You?”

 

“Italian and Latin,” she grimaces.

 

“What, really?” He’s surprised. He knows the Zukos speak Italian. He's heard them, at church, in the neighbourhood. They must speak it at home sometimes too. Even if it is Sicilian, Irene shouldn't be failing Italian. “How come?”

 

“I don’t like ‘em,” she shrugs. “Latin’s just for church and old nuns, and Italian’s just for....” Her voice trails off, and suddenly Ray gets it. Italian is for her Pa giving orders to his goons, for shouting at her Ma, for being a Mob Boss.

 

“Hey,” Ray objects. “Italian’s awesome. It’s the prettiest language in the world.”

 

“What,” she teases, “you speak all of them?”

 

He smirks back. “I don’t need to. I speak the best.”

 

“Well, I think it’s ugly.”

 

 _Ugly?_  Ray feels a painful constriction in his chest, a sort of patriotism, which he hadn’t known he’d had. “Nah,” he says, it’s beautiful, it’s....” He stops, turns and stares at her. She’s lovely.

 

“‘Soleasi nel mio cor star bella et viva,’” he says, and flushes hard.  _She used to be so lovely, and living in my heart._ He doesn’t know why he said that, why he’s suddenly started quoting love sonnets in the street. He has to read them at school - this really isn’t the place. Somehow, though, his voice has dropped, gone husky, like it does when he’s having sex. She’s staring at him, eyes startled, wide open, lips slightly parted. He can’t stop now. He hears his strange voice continue:

 

“...com'altra donna in loco humile et basso:

or son fatto io per l'ultimo suo passo

non pur mortal, ma morto, et ella è diva.’”

 

Death. Now he’s talking about his own death. Oh God.

 

They’re standing outside the butcher’s, and the whole world has gone away. He steps closer to her, like they’re about to dance, and rests his fingers on her shoulder, lightly. She tilts her head up to him, and breathes. He feels it on his cheek. He whispers:

 

“‘L'alma d'ogni suo ben spogliata et priva,

Amor de la sua luce ignudo et casso

devrian de la pietà romper un sasso,

ma non è chi lor duol riconti o scriva: -’”

 

His breath hitches, and he stops.  _Nobody can tell or write the pain...._

 

“Is there more?” she whispers.

 

He nods, and swallows:

 

“‘...ché piangon dentro, ov'ogni orecchia è sorda,

se non la mia, cui tanta doglia ingombra,

ch'altro che sospirar nulla m'avanza...’”

 

God, he hopes she doesn’t understand this. Why is he telling her stories about heartbreak and pain?

 

She’s holding his hand now, like maybe she does understand.

 

“‘Veramente siam noi polvere et ombra,

veramente la voglia cieca e 'ngorda,

veramente fallace è la speranza.’”

 

He’s finished.  _Truly all our hopes deceive us..._  He closes his eyes and swallows. He’s just made such a fool of himself....

 

“Hey,” her voice is soft. “Ray?”

 

“Yes?” He opens his eyes, and she’s gazing up into him like he’s beautiful or something. With such a smile. Such a sweet, sweet smile.

 

“Tutor me for Italian?”

 

And then they’re kissing in the street, like nobody can see.

***

 

Pa approves. Pa approves mightily. Pa smacks him on the back and offers him a drink. Ray says, no, he’s got to study, and then he’s got to get to the factory for his shift.

 

“You don’t need that kinda work,” Pa says, “if you get in right with the Zukos.”

 

“I’m not getting in anywhere,” Ray says. “She’s a nice girl.”

 

Pa nods, already scheming, thinking about how this might affect his place in the hierarchy. He’s been wanting to be a made man for years, keeps getting passed over. Well, of course he does - like Old Man Zuko's gonna trust anything important to a drunk. Pa's not worked it out yet. Thinks he can wangle his way up the mob ladder. “Yeah," the Old Man concedes. "She’s is a nice girl. She might be the right one for you.”

 

What he really means is - this might be right for Pa. Ray feels sick. He wishes he hadn’t kissed Irene outside the damn butcher’s shop. For a first kiss, that was tacky - even by his standards. He wishes Pa didn’t know. He wishes he hadn’t shamed Irene in public like that.

 

After Pa’s left, Ma’s looking pinched. She bustles around the kitchen table, where he’s working out his Math problems, and tells him to treat that poor girl right. “I promise, Ma,” he says. “I’m not - I’m not like that anymore.” Ma looks like she wants to believe him. He ducks his head in shame, and concentrates on a line of numbers. It’s not like there’s anything he can say which will make her trust him.

 

“You know if you hurt her,” Ma’s voice is quiet, “you’ll bring a world of trouble to our door.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray looks up from his book. “Yeah, Ma. I know that. But I swear to God, I won’t hurt her.”

 

Ma frowns. “Don’t make a promise to God if you don’t intend to keep it.”

 

Ray nods, and starts back at his sums.

***

 

Nobody’s come round to break his kneecaps yet, so it looks like nobody told the Zuko family about the kiss. There are some things the neighbours just don’t want Old Man Zuko knowing about, and Ray’s glad, for Irene’s sake as much as his own.

 

Nonna Zuko is suspicious of him of course - well, she’s right to be, given his reputation - and when Ray goes round to tutor Irene her grandmother sits in the corner of an honest to God library, fiercely knitting, and glaring over her yarn. She grills him in querulous Italian, with a strong Sicilian accent, as though to make sure of his credentials. He gets the feeling if he’d misunderstood a single one of her words she’d have kicked him out on his ass for not being a good enough tutor for her granddaughter. Fortunately he has a family full of people who speak the same dialect. It’s not what he has to teach Irene for school, but at least Nonna Zuko backs off a bit. After about a week she relaxes even more, and he’s getting fewer dirty looks, but she still never leaves them alone together.

 

So, after class every day Ray goes back to the Zuko’s first, before work. He and Irene walk up the long drive, into the grand house, and they sit in the library and Ray helps Irene through her grammar drills. When they’ve done the assignment he practices conversational Italian with her. First time, he’s surprised by her American accent, and she’s embarrassed. He tells her it’s cute, and Nonna Zuko gives him a warning glare. He tells Nonna that her accent’s cute too, and she glares even more, but when he glances up he can see that the old woman is smiling furtively behind her knitting needles.

 

Ray could charm the moon out of the sky, he thinks, when he’s having a good day.

 

He has quite a lot of good days this summer. Work’s not too bad - he’s only doing a part-time shift, four hours at night, so he’s still got time to study. It gets him out of the house, helps Ma with the groceries, and he has a little money in his pocket. Sometimes he takes Irene out for a latte before they go to her place. Irene’s Italian is getting much better, though her Latin’s still lagging. She offers to tutor him for Math, return the favour, so they’re spending even more time in her Pa’s library. He finds out that she can play the piano - she’s really good too. She and her Nonna sing sometimes, arias and folk songs. Ray doesn’t dare join in - it’s like another world, and his voice ain’t that good - but both women enjoy his applause. Ray’s happy. He’s only kissed Irene that one time, but he likes that. He likes that he’s behaving like a gentleman for once. He likes that Irene’s not just some other girl he fucked.

 

Old Man Zuko stops him outside of Mass one day, with a hand on his shoulder, and thanks him for the lessons. “She’s doing well,” he says. “Nice to hear her talking Italian again.”

 

Ray shuffles, and doesn’t know what to say. Then, Zuko taps the ash off his cigar and leans forward. “You lay one finger on my little girl’s head,” he murmurs in Ray’s ear, “and I’ll cut your dick off and make you eat it.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Ray is astonished by how calm he sounds. “I know that.”

 

“Good,” Zuko says. “Because, I like your Pa. Even if he does have a fanook for a son. I’d hate to have to whack him.”

 

Ray freezes, then grins to cover his terror. “Go ahead and whack him, Sir,” he says. “I won’t mind.”

 

Zuko looks startled, then laughs out a puff of smoke. “Well, you got moxie, I’ll give you that. Just keep your dick in your pants.”

 

“I intend to, Sir.”

 

And he does. He really, really does.

***

 

Only problem with that is, now Irene has started starring in his fantasies. He’s not shoving things up his ass so much, so maybe she cured him - but even though he comes for her every morning and most nights, alone in his bed, he doesn’t want to actually  _do_  it with her. Well... he does, and he doesn’t. For one thing, he’s almost sure she’s a virgin, and even during the worst of his slutting around he’d avoided fucking virgins. He remembers the first time someone fucked him, and it hurt. Damn near killed him, it felt like. It probably hurts girls worse - he’s read all about hymens.

 

Stupid fucking things anyway. He can’t think why God would put them there.

 

Mind you, God put a prostate up his ass, and Ray would never have thought of that, so maybe he shouldn’t complain too much.

 

Okay, so sometimes he’s still shoving things up his ass. But when he does it, he’s thinking about Irene.

 

 _I am so screwed,_  he thinks, sitting opposite her, at the big oak table in the library, helping her translate Caesar’s Gallic Wars. She’s looking tired, and her black hair is flopping over her face as she leans on her elbow. He’s never even seen her wear makeup. She’s got worry lines on her forehead, squinting, as though that will make the words make sense. Maybe she needs glasses. She’s so damn pretty.

 

“I’ll never get this.” She snaps her pencil, a sharp crack, startling Ray and making her grandmother pause her knitting for a moment. "Seriously." She drops the pieces on the table. “You should just give up on me.”

 

“Look,” he says, and points at the line. He’s not a good teacher, he thinks, not like she is. Something that’s plain to him, and he can’t figure out how to explain it to someone else. He can’t understand why she doesn’t understand. It’s obvious. “Just pretend it’s Italian, only in a different dialect or something. Pretend it’s really, really bad Italian.”

 

She shakes her head. “I’m stupid,” she says. “I’ll never get this right.”

 

He sits back and gapes at her.

 

“What?” She frowns at him.

 

“You don’t mean that, do you?” He shakes his head incredulously. “You’re killing me at Math. You’re the smartest girl I know.”

 

“Yeah?” Her mouth curves in a smile, and her brow smooths out. “You must know some really stupid girls.”

 

Behind them, her Nonna coughs. For someone who pretends not to speak English, she’s really on the ball. Ray realises he is leaning over the table, about to touch Irene’s hair. He sits back, takes a scrap of paper, and writes:  _‘Ti penso ogni giorno.’_  It’s true. He  _does_ think of her every day. She doesn’t have to know what he’s doing when he thinks about her. He passes the note to her, and watches her eyes widen and her smile brighten. She snatches up the broken stub of her pencil, and scribbles on the sheet, pushes it back toward him.  _‘Come un raggio di sole hai illuminato la mia vita.’_ He blinks. What, seriously? ‘Like a ray of light you have brightened up my life.’

 

He knows it’s a cliché, he’s heard the phrase before, he knows it’s just teenage mush but.... He glances at her from under his lashes, and blushes like a girl. Folds the scrap of paper and tucks it in his pocket.

 

He’s beginning to think his feelings for Irene are mutual.

***

 

School starts again, and he’s been bumped back up to mainstream Math, which is a relief. Irene’s in advanced everything, except languages. With him it’s pretty much the other way round. He’s in mainstream everything except Latin, Italian, and somehow or other, US history. So apart from Phys Ed, History or the lunch hall he doesn’t see much of her. Still, she sits next to him in their one shared class, she always dances with him, and she always sits next him at lunch. The guys who’d been razzing on him last year have backed up a bit. They don’t want to mess with a friend of the Zuko’s, even if the Zuko concerned is only a girl.

 

He still goes round Irene’s place once a week and speaks Italian to the old Nonna. She’s not such a bad old bird, for someone who gave birth to a monster. Old Man Zuko leans in the doorway sometimes, watching them. Ray makes sure there’s always a table distance between him and Irene when her Pa’s there. He’s just glad that Frankie’s not around. He’s back from Atlantic City, but he’s at college now, doing Business Studies.

 

Ray’s own father is not round much these days, but he’s not bringing in much money either. Ray knows that he’s not working so much for Zuko anymore. He’s heard rumours that it’s the booze, or that maybe he’s gambling again. Zuko can’t afford that kind of aggro. Whichever it is, it’s a problem. Ray and Ma have an argument after it’s been going on about a month, but he starts working back at the factory on weekends.

 

“You need to study,” she insists.

 

“We need to eat,” he replies, gesturing at the cupboards. They’re nearly out of food.

 

“I can feed my family. I’ll go to the foodbank if I have to.” She squares up to him, and he takes a step back. He doesn’t like raised voices in the kitchen, and he’s much taller than her - makes him feels like a bad man yelling at her. He doesn’t want the kids to hear it. He drops his voice.

 

“You’re not going to the foodbank,” he says. “I know you can look after us. But they’re my family too. I don’t want all this on your head.”

 

She drops her chin, then sighs. “Just weekends,” she concedes. “Just till things get better. And you go to Mass on Sundays.”

 

“Yeah, Ma.”

 

“And you study in the week.”

 

“Yeah. I promise.”

 

This time, when he makes her a promise, she believes him. And he keeps it.

***

 

So, Ma’s working at Jewel’s in the daytime, and she gets some night jobs cleaning up in the hospital. He’s exhausted all the time, going to school or working at the factory. He sees Irene on a Thursday for Italian, and that’s it for his social life. When he and Ma aren’t around, Maria’s meant to be looking after the kids. Half the time when Ray gets home, Maria’s making out with Tony on the couch, Paulie’s in his room playing on his game box thingy - Nintanno or something - and Frannie’s either got friends around, or she’s trying to cook and setting the kitchen on fire.

 

Maria’s not much of a baby-sitter - though he’s known worse. He thinks of Carla’s cousin, and grimaces.

 

He’s not so worried about Paulie. Yeah, he should be studying harder, but he’s brighter than Ray, so he’s still making decent enough grades, even if he _is_  hooked on that stupid game. At least he's not a sexaholic like Ray was at that age, and he's not doing drugs. So what if the damn nannoo thing fell off the back of a truck? At least Pa finally got the kid something, and at least it keeps him happy.

 

It’s his kid sister who bothers Ray. She’s just the wrong age to be getting into boys.

 

The third weekend into semester he has to do overtime two nights running, because his partner didn’t turn up. He has to do all the wiring himself, and his hands get cramp.  _Oh, joy._ He gets home past three on Sunday morning, and when he tiptoes in to peek into Frannie’s room, check she’s all settled, she’s not there.

 

Ray goes frantic. He runs through the house looking for her. He flips the light on in Paulie’s room. Paulie groans, and puts the pillow over his face. Frannie’s not there. She’s not in Ray’s room, she’s not in Ma’s room. She’s not in Maria’s room. She’s not in the guest room. She’s not hiding in any of the closets. (She hasn’t done that for over a year anyway.) She’s not in either of the bathrooms. She’s not in the kitchen. She’s not hiding under the stairs, or behind the coats. She’s not in the yard playing on the swingset, she’s not in the garden shed. She wasn’t in the living room when he came in, but he hadn’t expected her to be at half past two in the morning. He checks again to be sure. No. Not in the living room. Not in the house at all. Maria and Tony are on the couch, backing away from each other, smoothing their clothing like nothing was going on, and Maria’s opening her mouth to say something - ‘hi,’ probably - and suddenly Ray’s yelling at the top of his lungs.

 

“Out! You stupid fucking bastard retard, get out! Get the hell off my sister!”

 

“Ray!” Maria gets to her feet, furious. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

What he’s doing is he’s hauling Tony off the couch by the armpits. He’s heavier than Ray, but Ray has the advantage of sheer rage and blind panic. What he’s doing is he’s dragging Tony down the hall, both of them kicking and screaming. What he’s doing is he’s shoving the stupid fucking bastard out the front door, slamming it in his face. What he’s doing is he’s yelling threats and obscenities at the top of his voice, in two languages, and making up some new curses for good measure. What he’s doing is he’s kicking the walls and punching holes through the plaster. What he’s doing is he’s pointing his finger and jerking it in Maria’s face, stalking up on her. What he’s doing is he’s watching her face go tight and frightened, watching her raise her hands protectively and back away....

 

And then he stops. He’s scared his sister now. His big sister, even. What the hell is wrong with him?

 

Maybe she needs scaring though.

 

“Where’s Frannie?” he asks, his voice shaking as he tries to calm down. He’s cold and sweating at the same time, with pure fright. “It’s way past her bedtime, she’s not anywhere. I checked. So, where is she?”

 

“Calm down, Bro.” Maria’s trying to reassert her authority. “She’s having a sleepover at her friend’s house.”

 

“What friend?”

 

“Bella.”

 

“Bella? Arabella Lazarroni?”

 

“Yeah,” Maria crosses her arms and looks defensive. “So what?”

 

“Arabella Lazarroni?” he repeats.  _God. Carla’s kid sister._ Ray feels sick.

 

“Yeah. You said that already. So what?” Maria crosses her arms, and looks defensive. “Her mother’s there.”

 

“You sure of that?” Ray sucks in a deep breath.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

“Oh yeah? That’s strange. ’Cause her mother was never there when I used to go see Carla.” He watches to see if the penny’s dropped. It hasn’t. Very carefully, very coldly, he spells it out. “Her mother wasn’t there when I got the clap.”

 

Maria goes pale. Ray gives a bitter smile. “See why I’m angry?” He turns for the door. “Now, you stay here, and make sure nobody steals our Paulie. I’m going to get Frannie.”

 

“I’ll call Mrs Lazarroni,” Maria says.

 

“Don’t you dare!” Ray pivots on his heel and points at her again. “Don’t you fucking dare. For one thing, the stupid cow ain’t gonna be there. I bet you good money. And if you call them now, they’ll make up a story. If I get there and there’s nothing going on, fine. If I get there and something’s going on, I’m -” He stops himself before he says what he really wants to do. “I’m calling the cops.”

 

“You can’t call the cops!” Maria looks horrified. “They’ll screw up everything. Pa will kill you.”

 

“He’s been threatening to kill me for years. I’m used to it. Besides, who’d care? Get rid of me, get rid of Pa at the same time. At least the fucker would get sent down for something. You’d finally have some damn peace and quiet around here.

 

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Maria snaps. “Anyway. What could be going on? Frannie’s only twelve.”

 

Ray bites down on his tongue so hard he tastes metal in his mouth. When he speaks again, his voice is brittle. “You think she’s safe ’cause she’s young? What world you been living in? I was only thirteen when I got gangbanged in the shower.”

 

Maria goes white as a sheet, and Ray realises that even though everyone in the family knows, nobody ever talked about it. _He’s_  never mentioned it even, to anyone. He hardly even thinks about it anymore. “Nobody’d do that to Frannie,” Maria whispers.

 

“Would you ever have thought anyone would do it to me?”

 

She shakes her head mutely.

 

“You’re not calling to warn them, are you?”

 

“No,” Maria says, and looks up the stairs. Paulie’s standing by the banister, staring down at them, cross-faced and sleepy. “Go to bed, Paulie,” she says. “Everything’s alright.”

 

“I heard shouting,” he says, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, like he wants to come down and kick Ray’s butt if it’s his fault. _Good boy,_ Ray thinks.

 

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re cool. I’m just going to find Frannie.”

 

“Oh.” Paulie yawns - it really is late. “Yeah, I think she’s with that slut Bella.”

 

Ray’s too shocked to speak - he’d never expected to hear that word out of his little brother’s mouth, but it’s not like he can say anything. Paulie heard him use it himself, back when Tish was crying at the door.  _God._ He stares at Maria, who if anything is even paler than before. “You want me to call back Tony?”she asks.

 

Ray blinks, gets his head back together, and snorts dismissively. “Like  _he’ll_  be any help. I’ll be five minutes.”

 

He’s longer than five minutes. Carla opens the door, and she’s obviously high.

 

“What do  _you_ want?” she slurs. “You come back for me?”

 

Ray shoves in past her, and starts shouting. “Frannie?” he yells, “Get down here.”

 

“She’s asleep,” Carla says, following him up the stairs. “You can’t just barge in like that.”

 

“Where’s your mother?”

 

“Uhm... she’s just gone out to the shop.”

 

“Fuck that,” Ray says. “Do you even know how late it is?”

 

Carla blinks, her eyes black and stoned. Ray shakes his head in disgust. This was nearly his life.

 

He carries on up the stairs, and starts opening bedroom doors.

 

Bunch of people in the mother’s bedroom - he can’t tell which are guys or girls, but he knows at first sight that none of them is Frannie.

 

Carla’s room, some guy passed out next to a bong.

 

This room must be Bella’s then. He can’t remember ever going in there. But what kind of a shit scum bastard was he, to do the things he did in this house with a kid in it, trying to sleep? He’d never even thought of that before. He opens the door, shaking like he’s about to fall apart.

 

Frannie and Bella, fast asleep, still in their clothes, thank God. And that bastard Tommy from Math. That bastard Tommy from Math, and he’s....

 

Ray watches himself as he walks to the bed, grabs Tommy, and throws his naked ass out the bedroom window. Glass everywhere, and screaming, and lights are going on in the neighbouring houses. He can’t call the cops now.

 

Frannie and Bella are sitting up blinking, staring around owlishly like they don’t know what’s going on. Ray picks Frannie up, hoists her over his shoulder, and marches down the stairs, out of the house, pushing his way through the guys gathering in the hall. Frannie mutters woozily - Holy God, they got her drunk, or stoned or something. He’s torn between a desire to rock her on his shoulder like a bambina, tell her everything’s going to be okay, or to shake some goddamn sense into her.

 

Now’s not the time to do either. She’s too fucking out of it.

 

“Oh my God,” Maria says when he gets her home. She sniffs. “Oh my God, she’s drunk.”

 

“Yeah, let’s hope that’s all she is.”

 

“Oh my God.”

 

“Get her some water,” Ray says, “and some aspirin.”

 

“What are we gonna tell Ma?”

 

“Is that all you’re bothered about? Ma finding out? Frannie could be pregnant here or something.”

 

“Oh, God. Ray, I’m so sorry -”

 

“Save it for Ma. Get the fucking water.”

 

Maria brings in water, a damp towel and some aspirin. Ray sits Frannie up on the couch, and strokes her hair back from her face. Somebody’s going to have to check between her legs, but he’s not going to do it. “Hey, Sis,” he says, and pats her face. “Wake up. You gotta drink some water.”

 

Frannie opens her eyes and starts crying. “Are you mad at me, Ray?”

 

Ray feels - Ray feels - Ray doesn’t know what he feels. He feels like he wants to kill someone. He feels like wants to die. His sister is so little. He never wants anyone to ever hurt her, he never wants anyone to ever call her a slut. He loves her so much it tears chunks out of him, and he’s absolutely furious with her, but -

 

“Nah, Sis,” he says, and hugs her hard. “I’m not mad.”

***

 

That night, when Ma gets home from her shift, after the shouting is over, after the women have checked between Frannie’s legs and declared she’s okay, after Frannie’s safely tucked up in her bed, with a beaker of water on the table next to her, and a bucket if she needs to puke, Ray goes for a walk. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he doesn’t want to be home. He should be exhausted after the shit he’s been through today, but he’s wound up far too tight. He doesn’t think Carla or Tommy or anyone will call the cops - they’d all get busted too - but maybe the neighbours did. There was a naked guy bleeding all over the lawn for fuck's sake. If the cops do come round, he doesn’t want to be home. ’Cause he thinks he might just tell them the truth, and then it will be all round the neighbourhood that Frannie’s a slut, even though she’s still a little girl.

 

Six o'clock on Sunday morning, and somehow he’s standing outside the Zuko mansion, staring up at Irene’s window. The guard dog knows him, so he doesn’t bark. “Hey Bruno,” Ray mutters, and the rottweiler rolls over, wagging his stump of a tail. Ray huffs a laugh and scratches the dog's belly. Seems like giving him all those treats when no-one was looking paid off. Dog looks more like a chihuahua than a deterrent to burglars. Old Man Zuko would probably have the poor mutt shot if he saw that.

 

He’d better not see it then.

 

Ray thinks he should just go, just keep walking, but his feet have other ideas. He creeps across the grass, so the gravel doesn’t crunch. He looks up at the vine outside the house, up to Irene’s room.

 

Without even thinking about it, he starts climbing. Then he’s hanging one-armed by her window, tapping on the glass.

 

Just as the window goes up, he thinks,  _what if her Pa answers?_  He doesn't. Thank God, it’s Irene. Her hair is tousled, her eyes bleary - somehow she's looking sleepy and alarmed at the same time. Her face relaxes when she sees it’s Ray.

 

“What are you doing here?” she whispers, then frowns. “God, Ray? What’s wrong?”

 

“I just....” What the hell had he been planning on saying to her? “I need some place to sleep.”

 

“Your folks kick you out?”

 

“No - no. I just - I can’t stand it. Frannie got in trouble. She’s alright, but - Not right now. I can’t talk about it now. Please? I won’t do anything. I just need someplace to sleep.”

 

“Okay,” she says, and steps back. “Come in.”

 

And then he’s in, and wow - she’s got a four post bed with curtains and everything.

 

“I can sleep on the floor,” he protests. She rolls her eyes.

 

“Get in bed, you goofball. I’m glad Frannie’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong when you’re not dead on your feet.”

 

“Thanks Irene,” he mutters. Next thing he knows, she’s tucking him in, pulling the curtains round them. He’s still wearing his work-boots. What the hell is he thinking? What is  _she_  thinking come to that? If anyone catches him, they’re not just going to throw him out a window, they’re gonna kill him - very, very slowly. And they’ll probably put Irene in a convent, or marry her off to some second cousin mafiosi piece of shit who doesn’t speak any English at all. She might end up in Sicily even, having one Mafia baby after another, and he’ll never see her again. Assuming, that is, he survives.

 

Oh, who cares if he survives? He can’t pretend it matters. All of a sudden he feels completely safe. Which is stupid, given where he is, who he’s with. But here, in Irene’s bed, with the curtains pulled around them, he feels safe. She lies down next to him, on top of the sheets, and puts her arm around his waist.

 

“Go to sleep, bambino,” she says, stroking his forehead, so he does.

***

 

He wakes up in a tent or something, and doesn’t know where the hell he is. He blinks at the padded ceiling, and feels the sheets. Smooth. Not the first time he’s woken up somewhere without a clue how he got there, but this is better than most. He checks - there’s no strangers in bed with him, and he doesn’t feel like he fucked anybody, or let anybody fuck him.

 

Then he hears Irene’s voice, and it all comes flooding back.

 

Irene sounds like she’s at the far end of the room, and he can smell Old Man Zuko from here. Guy smells of cigars even when he isn’t smoking them.  _Oh shit,_  Ray thinks,  _she’s talking to her Pa._  He huddles in under the sheets, cups his hands over his balls, and thanks God for the heavy curtains.

 

“Mi dispiace,” she’s saying, in her cute American accent. “Non mi sento bene.”

 

Despite his fear, Ray grins. He knows what she’s doing. She’s buttering the Old Man up by speaking Italian. Zuko sounds like a different guy when he’s talking to his daughter. Ray doesn’t think he’s the one who beats on her. He hasn’t seen bruises on her arms since Frankie went to Atlantic City.

 

“Mia Bella,” her father says, concerned. “Cosa c'è che non va?”

 

“Sono sempre stanco,” she says - and she sounds it. She really does sound tired. Either she’s a good actress, or Ray should be worried about her. She clears her throat and says in English. “I’m sorry, Papa, I think it’s...” she drops her voice. “I think it’s women’s things.” Of course - Ray never taught her the Italian for ‘period,’ or any of its euphemisms. Her Nonna would have had a fit, and he wouldn’t have known how to bring it up anyway. And it’s a clever thing for Irene to say - it will give her Pa the heeby jeebies and get him out of here sooner.

 

“Oh. Oh!” Old Man Zuko makes a sound of deep embarrassment. “Well,” he says, in English himself now. “You’d better rest up today.” He coughs. “I understand it gets better.”

 

“Yes, Papa.” There’s a pause, and Ray imagines that one of them has kissed the other’s cheek. “Say sorry to Mama and Nonna that I can’t go to church today.”

 

“I will do, mia Bellisima. If you need anything call the maid.”  

 

_Call the ‘maid?’ How damn rich are these people?_

 

Ray’s shaking his head incredulously as the door snicks shut. There’s a little click like Irene’s turning a lock, and then she pokes her head through the curtains, grins at him. “You still sleepy?” she asks.

 

“No.” He’s grinning, his heart thumping hard in his chest from fright and exhilaration. He  _should_  be sleepy - if it’s time for Mass already he’s only had a couple hours sleep. He’s buzzing all over though - even his fingers are buzzing. Adrenaline. She bounces on the bed next to him, and rolls over, smiles in his face, wriggles up to him. He’s smiling back. He’s in bed with Irene Zuko, right under her family’s noses, and she actually wants him there. Alright, so he stinks in his work clothes, and all his muscles ache, but it’s a good place to be. He shuts his eyes, and tries to think straight. He can’t. Can’t think. He’s never gonna think again. He’s got a hard-on. He’s fucking crazy.

 

“I should go.”

 

She pokes him in the chest, and he opens his eyes. She’s pretending to pout, but she’s grinning too much to pull it off. “Then I lied to my Papa for nothing.”

 

“You  _lied_  to your father?” he asks, pretending to be surprised.

 

“Yeah, I did. What you gonna do about it?”

 

Ray’s mouth goes dry. There’s no mistaking the look in her eyes, nor the fact that her hands are sneaking down his shirt, undoing his buttons.

 

“Oh my God,” he says. “You want to do it.” He swallows. “I mean - with me.”

 

“Well, I’ve got to do it sometime,” she says, practically, “and while you were sleeping I spoke to Nonna. She heard how you looked out for your sister.”

 

“Your Nonna knows?” Ray cringes. That means everyone knows.

 

“Yeah, well. Tommy had it coming. Brutto figlio di puttana bastardo.” Ray gapes with shock that she knows such words. He bets her Pa doesn’t know she can swear like that. She says it in a Sicilian accent too. Holy shit, did she learn that one from her  _grandmother?_  "Anyway," Irene continues like she said nothing weird, "you’re the only guy round here with any class.”

 

“Class?” Ray squeaks, and bats her fingers away from his belt. “Who the hell have you been talking to? I’ve got as much class as a mangy old tom cat.” He lifts an armpit and sniffs, pulls a face. “Plus I didn’t get to shower after work. I reek.”

 

“Yeah, I know, I know,” she says. “You’re all sweaty, which I kinda like, and you fucked around a bit.”

 

“I fucked around a lot.”

 

“Oh, stop bragging. A lot then.” She is definitely unbuckling his belt now. “But you pulled yourself together, didn’t you? You stand up for your family, and you work, and you’re not going to end up some Mafia goombah. You’re a good dancer, and you’re sexy as hell when you speak Italian -”

 

“Non ne credo una parola,” Ray interrupts, but smirks.

 

“Yeah? Well, I do. So quit it. You’re just fishing for compliments now.”

 

“Look,” he blushes, but he's grinning now. “I haven’t really done this before -”

 

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Unless it’s some giant conspiracy or something, and everyone’s making those stories up for laughs.”

 

Ray feels himself go crimson all over.  _Oh shit._  “You’ve heard stories?”

 

“They’ve probably heard about you in China.”

 

He pulls back from her then and sits up, pushes her hands away. She must have heard he’s a fanook. He wonders if she heard what her brother did to him. He wonders should he tell her. Maybe not. It’s not the kind of thing anyone would tell a Mafia Princess. She’s probably the only person in the neighbourhood who doesn’t know. Well, her and her Nonna and her Ma. He reckons Irene is wise to her brother, but the other two seem to think Frankie is a saint. “Look, he says, “I’m sorry. But I really haven’t done this before. At least - not with a - not with someone....”

 

He trails off, hopelessly. There is humour in her eyes, but something else. Something warm. He can never quite tell when she is joking. He daren’t say what he’s thinking. He drops his gaze.

 

“Not with someone you love,” she murmurs.

 

That’s it. That’s it exactly. He looks up, hope spiking through his chest. She’s not joking.

 

“Vieni qui e baciami,” he says, which is not what he means to say at all. He means to say he loves her.

 

It doesn’t matter. She comes over and kisses him anyway.

***

 

After the thing with Frannie he seems to have no time at all. He’d thought it was bad before, but this is murder. Ma won’t do night shifts anymore, no matter how much Maria promises to keep an eye on the kids this time, so he has to do longer shifts at the weekend. The police do come round about the incident, a couple of days later, and for a moment Ray thinks,  _‘shit, what if I killed the bastard?’_  But apparently he didn’t, so at least Ray’s just a thug and not a murderer. He’s calmed down a bit, so he doesn’t blurt out a confession, and besides, everyone in the family swears blind that Ray got straight home from work, officer. He was here all night. Even Tony backs him up, says Frannie came home from the party by herself, was all tucked up and safe by half past nine. Nothing comes of it. Pa’s still absent most of the time, and by some miracle he doesn’t even find out. Either that, or he doesn’t care. Little Paulie’s proud of Ray again, and the guys have all remembered he’s a badass, so they leave him well alone.

 

Frannie’s very quiet though. Now she’s the one being picked on at school. There’s nothing anyone can do about that.

 

And as for Ray, life has turned into a round of exhaustion. School, study, work at the weekend. Sneak around to Irene’s after work, tutor Irene on a Thursday, jack off in the john; school, study, tutor, work, sneak, wank. Fall asleep in Mass. When he’s really tired, he even falls asleep during dinner. He starts taking a little dexie to keep him awake in school, and it’s actually helping, so long as he sticks to one in the morning and lots of coffee to keep the buzz going. Only problem is, they don’t serve coffee at school, so sometimes he’ll take another one at lunchtime, and maybe every now and then if he’s up late finishing an assignment. After a couple of months he realises he’s taking more, but then getting out of bed for work is killing him. He’s not worried though. It’s not like what the other kids are doing - he’s not doing it to get high, he’s doing it to cope. He could probably get something from the doctor, if he didn’t have to go through Ma’s insurance. And anyway, when he’s got finals out of the way, he’ll stop.

 

Other than that and the constant wanking, he’s doing his best to be a gentleman, so he hasn’t fucked Irene. He thinks that might kill him just as sure as her Pa will when he finds out what’s going on. If he doesn’t get laid soon, he’ll probably explode, and Ma will have one hell of a mess to clean up.

 

Still, he can’t help himself. Everytime he and Irene get a chance, they fool around. They haven’t been caught yet - it’s a matter of time - but her bedroom’s just so nice, a whole world of its own, which they dedicate to sex. Not full sex, not just yet, but there are dozens of ways Ray knows to get a girl to come, without going all the way, and he’s working through his entire repertoire.

 

Sometimes they’re interrupted. Once or twice a week he has to hide under her bed when someone knocks on the door, and he presses up against the carpet with the dust-bunnies, thinking the maid’s not  _that_  good at her job, and clutches his dick at the root so he doesn’t shoot off by accident and alert anyone by smell. He doesn’t know why it excites him so much that someone might kill him for this. It does though, and on nights where he’s nearly caught he jacks off to the thought of it. There’s something really wrong with him. But he hasn’t let himself come in her room yet, partly because he’s paranoid it will get on her sheets, but mainly in case it grosses her out, even though she says it won’t. She’s looked at his cock, and played with it, but he won’t let her put it in her mouth. He doesn’t want to use a condom yet.

 

She licks her hand instead and does it that way, and she likes sniffing and licking his balls - he nearly goes off several times - but he always tells her when to stop, and she always does. He finishes himself off later, when he’s alone. He’s not here for him, after all, but her. He makes sure she comes several times a night. At least he’s good for that.

***

 

It’s getting worse. Ray’s still tutoring Irene in Italian - the Zuko’s are paying him now, though she has gratefully dropped Latin - and the whole time he’s teaching her he’s hard in his pants. It’s a wonder he can get anything done. He’s as bad now as he was a year ago, jacking himself off every-time he gets a minute to himself. He counts once, to see how many times he can get off in one day - then decides he must have got it wrong. Nobody can do it that much. And does it even count if you come dry? Feels pretty much the same, a bit burnier though, and no spunk. It’s not like he can ask someone. And it’s not like he can brag about it to anyone either. Nobody cares, and even if they did, nobody would believe him.

 

Maybe Irene will, if they ever get around to it.... He could show her. Not that it will ever happen, unless he can persuade her to run away with him to college or something. That wouldn’t be far enough. Maybe they should just run away altogether. Cross the border into Canada or something. Ray bets there’s no Mob up in Canada. And if there was, they’d be too polite to whack you.

 

One Saturday night, he’s finished work, and he’s hanging from the ivy, tapping at the glass. She peeks through the curtains, flashes him a grin, lifts the window. She’s naked. He’s so shocked he nearly lets go of the vine and falls off. 

 

“You’re taking forever,” she says when he scrambles in. “Thought I’d give you a head start.”

 

“It’s been two months,” he says, staring at her from head to toe. He can’t figure out what he loves best - her pert high tits, her slim waist, the elegant flair of her hips, or her long, surprisingly muscular legs. “That’s not forever.”

 

“Yeah, well. I don’t want to wait any longer. And I want it to be you.” She turns and walks to the bed, so he can see the perfect globes of her ass.

 

That night Ray explores every last inch of her. Every curve and plane. Licks, and nibbles, and sucks. He remembers his first time, and doing this for Tish, before he really knew what he was doing. He was good enough then. He’s much better at it now. He plays with Irene’s tits, and they’re different from Tish’s, Carla’s, Joan’s... all those other ones whose names he didn’t know. He wishes these were the first tits he’d ever played with. Irene spreads her legs for him, and he sees the shadows of other girls where he touches her, the different colours of their hair, shapes of their pubic triangles, the ones that shaved, the ones that waxed, the different tones of their skin. He bends his head to her vulva. Beneath the dark cloud of her hair it's soft as a petal, like so many cunts before. Her clit looks shy at first, hiding behind its hood, and he teases it out with his lips and breath and tongue, makes the tiny point proud and red. The petals of her cunt are plumping up, just the way they’re supposed to, and she’s wet down there, and soft. God, she’s so warm, and so wet, and it’s spreading all over his face, and she’s breathing like she’s been running, and she’s sweating through the sheets.

 

He wishes he’d never started this with Tish, or any of those other girls.

 

He tries to lick the memories off, to memorise Irene, so she’ll erase all his other memories. He wishes he’d never done this before, that this was his first time too. He wishes he could be clumsy, and fumbling, and finding everything out for the first time. He strokes, fingers, stretches, spreads, and there....

 

A new little fold, right inside her, where he never saw one before, like a pink crescent moon. He’s only ever seen a photo in a medical book. Unmistakeable though. It’s the first time he’s ever seen a hymen. He swears to God he’ll never do this with anyone else for the rest of his life.

 

“Why are you crying, Ray?” she asks, puzzled, when he lifts his head to breathe.

 

“I wish I’d waited for you,” he says. “I wish you were my first.” He pushes his head back down, for shame, and sticks his tongue inside her, pulsing it back and forth, breaching as far as he can, without breaking that secret wall. He holds her lips apart, and breathes into her channel, purses his mouth and pushes in sharp puffs and pulses of rhythmic air. She shivers, and gets even wetter. He’s read about this trick, but it’s only really safe if the girl has a hymen; otherwise air can get in the womb. He’s going to make the most of it now, because he’ll never get to do it again. He keeps going, and his lips ache, and she shudders all over.

 

“Ray,” she shoves her groin against his face. “Do it, please.”

 

“Can’t,” he groans. “It’ll hurt.”

 

“Ray,” she says, and tugs at his hair. “Come up here.” He moves up, and hovers over her, face to face, leaning on his elbows. She kisses his cheeks, strokes his tears off with her thumb. “Wow,” she says. “You’re all wet. Is that me?”

 

“Yeah,” he giggles inanely, feeling suddenly goofy and high. “I need a snorkle down there.”

 

She giggles too, and licks her juices off his face. “It’s okay,” she says, and wraps her hand around his dick, starts guiding it into her. “You can do it. It’s okay.”

 

“I need a condom.”

 

“Oh,” she says, looking almost disappointed. “Do you have one?”

 

“Uhm....” Ray blushes. He’s been carrying condoms on him ever since he got the clap. But he doesn’t want her to think he’s been planning on this, even though he’s been thinking about it since that first dance class - forever really. “Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, I do.”

 

She lets go of his cock, and props herself up on her elbows. “Let me see,” she says. “How you put it on. Show me, so I know for next time.”

 

There’s going to be a next time. Ray’s hands are shaking as he puts the thing on, like it’s the first time he did it. He still doesn’t like the plastic smell.

 

This time, when the moment comes, he sinks into her like he’s never done it before in his life. Part way in, there’s a catch, like he’s hit something, a tiny tension, then a sensation of tearing as she gives inside. He freezes. The little jolt shivers up the length of his dick, and is gone. She winces, then she puts her hands on his butt and pulls.  _Oh God._  He’s all the way in.

 

“I didn’t hurt you?” he whispers.

 

“Not too much,” she says, and pushes her hips up, squeezes. “Oh,” she says, and her face goes slack. He panics, and starts to pull out. She gives him the stinkeye. “Don’t stop now.”

 

He pushes back in again, slow, and tries to pretend that it’s like fucking any other girl. It’s not. Even if it wasn’t Irene, the condom feels weird. He’s so near to her, so damn close, but he wants to be skin to skin with her, wants to be completely wrapped around by her. He wants to be completely sticky with her mess, he wants to come so far inside her that he’s never coming out.

 

He realises then that she’s not coming. He’s made her come before, quicker than this, and he knows her tells. She’s not faking it either - she doesn’t do that - and he knows she’s nearly there, but he also knows he’s not quite doing enough. Most women don’t come their first time, he’s read, and just a guy’s cock doesn’t usually do it anyway. Specially since he hasn’t put his finger up there to play with her g-spot yet. He bets she doesn’t even know she has it.

 

He shifts his angle, slides his fingers over her clit. Light, light, feather round the hood.... Don’t touch the tip, it will be too sensitive for anything but the lightest of tongue or breath.

 

“Can I?” he whispers, and starts edging one finger inside her, alongside his cock. He’s never done it this way before. She nods, but says nothing. She’s biting her lip.

 

His finger feels good inside her, a line of extra pressure against his hard-on, and he feels around for that rough patch of skin on her wall that he knows is extra sensitive. He’s watching her face, and sees the flicker of surprise when he gets it right. He starts to move his finger, a crooked ‘come hither’ gesture, that Marco taught him on his birthday once. He feels his knuckle rhythmically pressing his cock as he teases her. He hadn’t expected that extra stimulus, and he tries very hard not to come. The rest of his hand is still outside her, and he circles her clit with his thumb. Then, very gently, he starts to move his hips again, mindful of the sore patch where her hymen tore. She doesn’t seem to be in pain at all - or if she is, she doesn’t mind it. She starts pushing harder, whispering, “come on, come on.”

 

He puts his head against her neck, still moving his cock, still crooking his finger, still rolling his thumb around the edges of her sensitised clit. He can feel her heart beating against his chest. It’s banging like a drum. She’s near now. Very, very near. He whispers into the hollow of her throat, against her voice box, where she’ll feel the words echo inside her. “Ti amo. Sei la mia adorata, mio bel tesoro, ti amo.”

 

That does it. When she comes, her whole body convulses, and she gushes. He leans back to see their groins connected, his cock and finger in her, and she’s even spurting, shooting up a little, almost like a guy. He’s heard of that in porno. Didn’t know real girls really did it.

 

Oh God. He made her come her heart out, and it was her first time. He's dizzy with it.

 

After what seems like forever, she opens her eyes, dazed, loopy, happy. “I love you too,” she says.

 

She loves him. All of a sudden, he can’t stop himself. He pulls his finger out, and starts pushing, harder than he means to, faster than he wants - four times, five - then he can’t count, and then he’s coming. Coming hard, into a fucking plastic bag, and it isn’t enough. It is nearly, nearly perfect, but it isn’t quite enough.

 

When he finishes, he lays on top of her for quite a long time. Nearly falls asleep. It’s only when he remembers the condom might fall off that he rolls off her, and ties a knot in the thing.

 

“Good?” he asks.

 

“Good.” She strokes his chest. “We have to do that again.”

 

“Gimme ten minutes, Baby,” he says, and wonders why that sounds familiar. “Sometimes it takes a while to get it up.”

 

She laughs like she doesn’t believe him, but ten minutes later, before he can prove himself, he’s asleep.

***

 

Some time that night, he wakes up briefly and drapes himself around her. When he falls back asleep he is dreaming about Marco. He knows he’s dreaming, because everything is in black and white, like an old Western. They’re on the plains, out in the country or something, and Marco’s leaning against a tree, turned a bit away from him, so Ray can’t see him properly. He’s got a cowboy hat on, tilted down to shadow his face. He’s a bit older, broader in the chest, like Ray is these days, and his curly hair is longer, down to his shoulders.

 

In the dream, Ray says “ti amo,” and because they are in a movie there are subtitles in English. ‘I love you,’ in stupid flowing script floats across the space between them when Ray speaks. Ray’s waiting for the violin music to start up. But there’s no music. Just the sound of a basketball bouncing  and bouncing, which doesn’t fit in with the plains, or the desert, or the tree.

 

“Marco,” Ray repeats, in case he didn’t hear. “Marco, ti amo.” It’s such a relief to finally say it. The translation goes drifting off between them and vanishes into smoke. Ray steps up and puts his hand on Marco’s shoulder.

 

In the dream, Marco lifts his head, and suddenly it’s not black and white anymore. Suddenly it’s a whole world of red. Marco’s still bleeding. He looks at Ray, then speaks through broken teeth. “Non ne credo una parola.” His translation shatters like glass in the air, jagged little black spikes, only when they hit the ground they melt like ice. 'I don’t believe a word.'

 

Ray wakes up gasping, and panting, and can’t remember what he was dreaming about. Irene’s still asleep. He spoons up behind her for comfort. The sun is coming up. He really has to go to Mass, and then go to work, and somehow the next day have enough energy for school.

 

But he can stay here one more minute, he tells himself. He kisses the nape of Irene’s neck, and watches her sleep some, before he has to go.

***

 

Ray doesn’t get to go the Prom. For one thing, they can’t afford it. He’s grown out of his good suit, there’s no money for a new one. For another thing, he has to work. Ma says she can figure something out, and gets all tearful about it, but Ray hugs her, and tells her it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want to go anyway. That’s true. Old Man Zuko told Irene already who she’s got to go with, and there’s nobody else Ray would ask. He doesn’t want to go stag, have to watch Irene dancing with some mafia wannabe all night. He doesn’t want to have to watch Irene’s face if the other guy tries to kiss her.

 

When he finishes work the night of the Prom, he goes to Irene’s place and climbs up the ivy, like they arranged. Even though they planned it, part of him’s scared witless that the other guy will be there, and then he’ll have to kill him. But Irene wouldn’t do that to him, he knows it.

 

He taps on her window, the curtains rustle, and Irene lets him in. It’s four o’clock in the morning; she’s been waiting up for him all night. It’s the first time he’s seen her wearing makeup. Her eyes are wet and shiny, a bit pink from where she’s been crying. Her eyelashes are spiky and wet, and her mascara has run. He smooths it away with his finger. There are flowers in her hair.

 

“Dance with me,” she whispers. He puts his arms around her, she puts her arms around him. He’s in his clodhopper boots and blue factory overall. She’s in her white satin Prom dress, looking like a saint.

 

They dance.

 

Afterward, after they’ve made love in absolute silence, after she’s fallen asleep, he puts the little box under her pillow. He didn’t know how to ask her, but when she wakes up and finds it, she’ll understand. He hopes she will anyway. She won’t be able to wear it, but at least she’ll know he asked.

 

Next time he sees her, she’s at church, sitting up front in the Zuko pew. She turns her head when he comes in, and her smile is dazzling. She lifts her hand, strokes a chain around her neck so he can see it. He knows.

 

She’s wearing his ring around the chain, pressed up against her heart.

***

 

Somehow, he passes finals. He doesn’t even scrape through. It evens out at a solid B.

 

“Frannie,” he grins, as he passes her in hall.

 

“What?” She says suspiciously, and he picks her up, twirls her, and kisses her forehead. “Oh my God,” she squeals, “You passed!”

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sis,” he says, and swaggers to the kitchen.

 

“Ma,” he says, as he swings in through the door. “Ma, guess what! I’m going to college.”

 

It’s not Ma in the kitchen.

 

“It’s your fault,” Pa slurs. He’s sitting on the table, in his best suit, tie undone, staring at his drink. “You know that? You and that slut Frannie. It’s all your fucking fault.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Ray glances at the door, hopes Frannie doesn’t hear. Or hopes that she does, and gets out of the house. He tucks his results back into his pocket, and takes a cautious step back to the door. Not too fast, or the Old Man will lunge.

 

“You know,” Pa waves his glass. “I’ve been working for Zuko since before you were born. I’ve done things - I’ve done things for that man I can’t even tell you about. And every fucking goombah wannabe gets made before me.”

 

 _Shit,_ Ray remembers.  _They had their elections last night._   _That’s why Pa’s all dressed up._  The Old Man’s was always bad this time of year.

 

“The only thing I can think,” Pa says, “the only thing I can think is that nobody wants me because my son’s a fucking fanook and my daughter’s a whore.”

 

Ray doesn’t say anything. Maybe Frannie’s out of the house already. Maybe if he can get out of the room it’ll be okay. Maybe Pa will pass out before things get really bad. He turns to leave the kitchen, and there’s a smash. Pa’s thrown his tumbler at the door. Ray flinches back from the shards, hands up to cover his face and - no - no - wrong move. Pa’s fist connects with the back of his head, and Ray goes over on his knees, landing on the glass.

 

“You stupid fucking pervert,” Pa yells. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? Letting people shove it up your ass? I should fucking kill you. You and that slut sister of yours, you’re as bad as each other. You should have both died the day you were born. I should have smothered you both myself -”

 

Ray twists on his knees, and punches the old man in the groin. Pa doubles over; Ray snaps to his feet. Pa’s going down, and Ray’s going up - their heads crack, but Pa’s the one with the bloody nose. Pa’s the one on the ground, cradling his balls, and Ray’s the one kicking him in the stomach. He can’t stop kicking, then someone’s pulling him away.

 

“Che stai facendo?” Ma’s shouting. “Basta, Raimondo, basta!”

 

When did Ma get here? Did she hear what Pa said? About Frannie? He stops kicking, and Ma puts her arms around him from behind, starts walking him backward out the door. He lets her take him, still staring at the Old Man, bleeding on the floor.

 

“Stop it,” Ma says in English. “It’s alright now. Stop it. You can stop now, Raimondo, enough.”

 

He starts shaking then, and pukes. It’s not the first time Pa made him puke, but it’s the first time he ever fought back. He’s never going to let Pa hit anyone again. He’s never going to let him call Frannie a slut again. He can’t take it anymore. He just can’t.

 

Ma leads him to the living room, sits him on the couch, and lets him shake. After a moment Frannie sneaks onto the couch beside him, and he puts his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” she sniffles. Ray doesn’t know what she’s sorry for - she didn’t do anything.

 

“It’s alright, Sis,” he manages to say, and she buries her head on his shoulder, gets it all snotty.

 

After a minute, Ma brings him a glass of water, and strokes his hair. Looks at his knees and frowns, where he’s bleeding through his pants.

 

“Ragazzo sciocco,” she says, like he was five and had an accident. “I’ll get plasters.”

 

“I’m alright, Ma.”

 

“You’re not alright. Sit there.”

 

After she’s tweazered out the bits of glass, and bandaged up his knees, she kisses him, kisses Frannie. Nobody says anything.

 

Then she goes to clean up the mess in the kitchen and hall.

***

 

Irene gets better grades than Ray. She pretty much aced everything, once she decided to ditch Latin and make it up with extra credits in Advanced Math. Ray is as proud of her grades as he is of his own - prouder even. He’d already told her she was the cleverest girl in the world.

 

It’s not till they start applying for college that Ray realises he’s going to lose her.

 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she says. “It’s only New York. We can still see each other.” She pauses. “You could come with me.”

 

“Like Columbia would have me.”

 

“They might,” she says defensively, then sighs. They both know that’s a crock. “There are other universities in New York.”

 

“Why does it have to be New York?” As soon as Ray asks, he knows the answer. Irene’s blush and turned away gaze confirms it. “It’s what your Pa wants, isn’t it?”

 

She nods, and fiddles with the chain that her ring is hanging from. “I’ll be able to wear this there,” she says.

 

“What if your Pa finds out?”

 

“I’ll tell him I’m wearing it to defend my honour, keep guys away from me.”

 

Ray grins. “Bit late for that.”

 

“Only one guy for me,” she says, and aims a kiss at him. He moves his head the wrong way into the kiss, and she lands on his nose instead.  _Hard to miss,_  he thinks, and sniggers.

 

Even while they’re laughing, and trying the kiss again, Ray knows that this is over. She might not admit it yet, but she’s a smart girl. She’ll figure it out soon enough. Irene’s going to New York, where she’ll be wined and dined by the best and brightest. Guys who won’t have to sneak into her room and hide under the bed. Guys with snappy suits, flashy cars and yachts. It’s not that he blames her, it’s not like that stuff would even impress her. But it hurts his heart.  One day her Pa will tell her who to marry, and she’ll have no choice. And besides, Ray knows she doesn’t want to see him dead. This is the only way.

 

So she’ll go to New York, and he’ll stay in Chicago, working the same damn graveyard shifts, only more hours, and trying to stay awake through the college days. He doesn’t know how long he can make it. If he’s honest, he’ll probably have to drop out. If he’s honest, he shouldn’t even waste his time trying. But then he’ll have no choice but to spend the rest of his life hauling crates, and checking cables, and getting shouted at by idiot foremen.

 

Even if he and Irene do see each other again, it will never be the same.

 

He hopes though...

 

_Oh God._

 

He hopes she keeps his ring.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the dS Seekrit Santa 2014, this is now the start of a series.


End file.
